


Wise men know that dark is right

by BehindBrokenWindows



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F, M/M, Multi, Post-Canon Fix-It, and homophobia, and trust, fuck slavery, its all about forgiveness, might add tags later, nassau is the utopia we made along the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 37,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23758129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BehindBrokenWindows/pseuds/BehindBrokenWindows
Summary: What if, instead of delivering Captain Flint to a plantation in Savannah, Long John Silver freed the slaves on the plantation and delivered one particular man to Flint?What if Nassau was given one last chance to find its place in the world with an English Lord for a governor?What if freedom could be won without a war?
Relationships: Anne Bonny & Captain Flint | James McGraw, Anne Bonny/"Calico" Jack Rackham/Max, Augustus Featherstone/Idelle, Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver, Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Madi/John Silver, Others background
Comments: 49
Kudos: 136





	1. At close of day

**Author's Note:**

> I'm planning for this to be between 30k and 40k words... not sure how that will go, but that's my idea for now at least. I have a lot of time on my hands so it shouldn't take me too long to finish this.
> 
> Basically I'm going to make this as canon compliant as I can, but with Silver taking Thomas to James instead of the other way around. Just me toying with the idea of Thomas being governor instead of Featherstone, but we all know who the real power in this Nassau is, I won't change that.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Kudos and comments really motivate me to write, and as always I am open to constructive criticism!

Footsteps rumbled through the halls of the estate almost languid in their hurry. They rumbled to the backdrop of half asked questions and heavy thumps and the creaking of the floorboards. All the inhabitants had been roused by the time the footsteps reached the sleeping quarters. They were gathered in small groups, rubbing sleep and comfort from their eyes or reaching for some means to protect themselves as something hit the floor outside their room. The door creaked open and for a moment all they could see was the barrel of a gun. The grimy face of a man followed it, then he was in the room with his comrades behind him, everyone shouting at them to stand back, to keep calm. Then they parted way for a one-legged creature.

Long John Silver stepped into the room and his people parted before him unquestioningly. He didn’t look like he wanted anything, didn’t look like he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be at a time most men slept. He looked almost as if he had been expected.

“No man should live in slavery. No man should accept it, no man should tolerate it. Yet here you are.” He looked over the gathered men with clear disdain etched in the heavy brows, the furrows of his darkened skin. “I give you all a choice, this night, and it should not be a hard one. I give you the choice between freedom and slavery. Any man who will, may walk away from this place with my protection, with no obligation toward me or my crew. There is only one thing I ask for in return, and that is Lord Thomas Hamilton.” John studied each tired face, thinking always _is this him? Is this the man Flint loved?_ It was a maddening exercise.

“There is no man of that name here,” someone said earnestly. Doubt blossomed as curious whispers spread through the room. “There never has been. Who are you to come asking for him?”

“What would you do with him? Why would one man be important enough to make you go through all this trouble just to get him?”

“Lord Thomas Hamilton,” John said again, and the name was thick in his mouth. Oh, he had _thought_ the name in his mind he knew not how many times. Saying it out loud had always felt like blasphemy, like betrayal.

“There is no one of that name here! But… but I would join your crew, if you –”

There was some shuffling at the back of the group, and then they parted for him. The man John could only assume was the one he sought.

“You must forgive my friends, sir. I’ve stayed under an assumed name for my own safety and discretion. Who comes asking after me?” He was polite, his voice was gentle, his expression schooled. He was, undeniably, completely ordinary.

“If you come with me willingly, I will offer you all the comforts I have at my disposal. I will see your safe delivery into freedom, I will see you treated with respect.”

“And if I choose not to cooperate?” A few other men walked up beside him, flanked him completely, protective. They must’ve known any resistance they offered might leave them dead. John admired their courage, and the man who inspired it in them.

“Then I will put you in irons and do everything in my power to see your transportation as painless and as comfortable as possible. I have no intention of hurting you or deliver you to your death. Hurry, my lord.”

“Who are you?”

“You don’t know who I am?” John asked the room, and it was all too clear that they knew exactly who he was. He shrugged, but he smiled. “We’re pirates, offering freedom to any man brave enough to take it.” Lord Thomas Hamilton put a hand on the chest of the man beside him, who had jerked forward to shield him.

“ _Don’t, Paul_. I’m grateful for your offer and will come with you willingly. Would anyone care to join me?”

They escorted Lord Hamilton to the carriage while the rest of the freed slaves were stowed in the back of several carts his men had stolen from the plantation. When they were ready to depart John joined Hamilton in the carriage, alone.

The man had brought nothing but the clothes he wore, and a shirt tied to carry a few possessions. By the shape of it, John guessed there were at least a few books.

“Will I see this place again? Or one like it?”

“No. Does the name Woodes Rogers mean anything to you?”

“Not a thing. Should it?”

“Perhaps not. He was, until recently, the governor in Nassau.”

“Nassau,” Lord Hamilton echoed, and John did not know if it was sadness or indifference in his voice. “And you’re a pirate. What do you want from me? To work _for_ or _against_ the governor?” John could barely make out the expression on his face in the darkness of the night.

“What is so special about you?” John mused instead of answering, but did not expect an answer.

“Oh, I have my qualities. All the good ones landed me in a place such as this. You would expect a man to learn a lesson from such a thing. Alas, I am known for my intelligence, not always my wisdom. Which is you?”

“I regret to inform you that your wife is dead.” A sigh was all that accompanied the statement, and a long silence where only the wheels of the carriage and the hooves of the horses could be heard.

“You knew my wife?” The voice that spoke was not so different than from before the news, but John heard the tightness of the throat, the tremble of the lips.

“I met her briefly, not long before she died. She did not die at the hands of a pirate. She died quickly and without pain.”

“It pains me greatly to hear this news,” Hamilton muttered, “but it does offer me some measure of peace as well. For ten years I have lived in uncertainty. It is worse than anything. Thank you.”

John had expected him to ask more questions, about how and why she died, about _who_ might have been with her when she met her end. Perhaps he couldn’t, or perhaps he simply didn’t dare.

“How far would you go to change the world?” John asked of him after some minutes. When he spoke again his voice was as unaffected as if he’d not just been told he was a widower.

“To change the world? How funny you should ask. I’ve worked ceaselessly toward that goal in the past and would do so again. The last ten years I haven’t been able to do anything but think about the changes I want to make, but given the opportunity to do what I felt was right, I would give all my efforts to achieve it.”

“Would you go to war, to achieve that goal?” Lord Hamilton chuckled.

“That is not the kind of change I yearn for, sir. No, from what I have learned, war rarely leads to the catharsis we hope for and causes more pain that it heals injustices.” John asked no further questions, and when the man opposite him seemed finally to trust in his own safety he slept. John had not slept in a long while. He had dozed, every night on the journey to Savannah he had dozed half an hour at a time, never longer.

He might have dozed now, because the sky had turned a greyish blue before he spoke again. He woke the other man from his tired slumber.

“Who was the man who stepped in front of you earlier?”

“Who? Paul? We’re all assigned partners at the plantation. He’s been mine for the last few months.”

“He was not you lover?” Hamilton stiffened upon hearing the word, and hadn’t John known what kind of man he was he would have mistaken his expression for disgust at the insinuation. “Which I would not begrudge you.”

“No, he was not. Why do you ask such a question, sir?”

“Because I’m taking you to one of your former lovers, and I’d like to know all the facts before I reintroduce you. I’m sure you remember him; wide shoulders, devil’s hair, his name is James. I’m afraid he cut his hair off.”

*

Hands had someone take the slaves below decks the moment they boarded, and John had barely said the command before they were underway. He was not going to prolong Flint’s faithless agony or Hamilton’s disbelieving excitement any longer than necessary, so he led the latter to the captain’s cabin immediately.

No lantern was lighted inside at this early hour, and despite the whitewashed walls, the light from the beginning sunrise did very little against the dimness of the room. Captain Flint roused himself when they entered, and the fact that he’d slept through the boarding spoke volumes of how tired he must be. John stepped inside, then he stepped aside, and it was as if he’d never been there at all.

“ _Thomas?_ ”

“James.” Flint sprung from the window seat only to be yanked back by the shackles around his left wrist. Hamilton met him before he could tear his hand from his arm, and John looked away to close the door against curious eyes.

He tried to avert his own, to close his ears, to stop his heart even as he witnessed a kind of desperation he had never seen before. Flint was clutching this stranger with his one free arm, the other stretched out behind him, pulling the chain to the limits of its reach. John rounded the desk on the opposite side of them, but he heard murmured sounds, saw fingers caressing, fingers clutching, foreheads pressed together. The wonder of their union seemed to overshadow everything else in the world, yet not a word was spoken after the desperate calls of their names, spoken like ghosts rising from their graves.

John put the key in the shackle around the captain’s wrist, and the touch of his own fingertips against Flint's naked skin in this moment felt wicked, depraved, touching a thing that was not his own, like a stolen kiss on promised lips. John had barely let the shackle drop to the ground before Flint turned with vicious speed and pinned him against the wall between the windows. The captain had his forearm pressed against John’s windpipe and John had his dagger at the captain’s pulse.

They were breathing the same air, Flint as close as he was that day at the wrecks, that day on the spanish warship. Those times had been beginnings. John held the knife now, though he was still the one being pinned, and he wondered if this was a sign of the end.

“You lied to me.” Flint’s voice was calm in a way John had learned to respect, to fear. “When I said I would not take another step toward the cache before I knew your intentions, you lied to me. You told me this war was a priority, that you and I were committed to the same end, that you had _finally_ joined me completely. You looked into my face and you lied.” _And what of you?_ Silver wanted to ask. _What of you, when you told me just the same about that fucking gold all those months ago?_

“I knew you couldn’t be reasoned with, that you were beyond my reach. After I lost her, I finally understood you fully and completely. _To see the world burn_. That is what love does to wretched men like you and I, that is what it demands of monsters. When I had her back, I knew that it wasn’t necessary. I knew that this would lead nowhere but to your death, and deep down, that is what you’ve been chasing. To go down in the flames of your own creation. I know this, I have _felt_ this. I tell you there is another way, a better way. But you won’t listen to me. You _will_ listen to _him_.” John was hoping, hoping against hope that Flint wasn’t gone too far, wasn’t stretched too thin in becoming the man he needed to be to convince himself that a war was justified. He hoped there was still a trace of a young man beneath the grime and the blood, a man who had known what it was to love, to _truly_ love.

“You betrayed me.”

“I couldn’t let you kill yourself! I would follow you down that path to my own death if that was necessary, but I realised that what I could not do, was to watch _you_ die. After Madi was gone, and I wanted to see the world burn, I would have done anything. Anything except lose you too.”

“Even now you lie and placate and try to worm your way back into my head –”

“ _You_ said we could mend this thing between us! This time, I agree.” Flint was taken unawares when John pushed him away, or he would never have been able to press his knife to where Lord Thomas Hamilton’s heart lay beating in his chest. “What wouldn’t you do to prevent me from driving this knife into his heart? What wouldn’t you give? You know that I had no choice, you _know_ that you would have done what I did.” A calloused hand closed around John’s on the handle, but Hamilton didn’t push the knife away, only held it steady so that he _could_ fight it, should John decide to kill him. “I’m willing to mend this, if you’re willing to see reason.”

“Not so long as you have that knife against his chest.”

“You know I wouldn’t be able to kill him any more than you would be able to watch me die.” Dooley, dead behind him, John thinking for a moment that he was dying by Flint’s hands, the pure surprise in thinking him, for only a moment, capable of killing him -

The silence that followed was too loud, too honest, too exposing to be borne, but it seemed like no one had anything left to say. John didn’t know where this left them, didn’t know whether confession, admission, whether finally letting this thing between them into the light was a good or bad thing at all. Perhaps it was too fragile, even now, or perhaps too bitter.

Gentle, ever gentle hands eased the knife down to John’s side and squeezed his before they let go.

“You have proven your point, Mr Silver. Please leave us.” They were back in each other’s arms before John could close the door behind him.

*

“Where are we?” Madi growled. He’d never wanted to lock her in like this. He had never felt the whiteness of his skin more acutely than in the moment he turned the key in the lock and walked away. He could not forget the look in her eyes, brown eyes, the whites so shocking in contrast to her skin. He had never felt so vile.

“I told you, we’re in Savannah.”

“Savannah. We should be back home, preparing for war! Why did you give Rackham that chest? It is as clear to me as it is to you that he will use it for his own purposes.”

“Because I saw it as the only way to distract him long enough that we could escape with Flint alive. And because I think he will be waiting for us once we return to Maroon Island.”

“He is gone.”

“He needs Flint dead. He’ll be there.”

“And what will you do when he demands Flint’s life? What will you do when he turns his guns on us?”

“He won’t. Because by then Flint will no longer be on this ship. By then, Flint will no longer exist.”

“I am sick of your riddles. Speak plainly or get out.” He’d only locked them inside to spare the confusion on deck, to make sure there would be no question of who was in charge. He hadn’t wanted either of them to challenge his authority. It had been difficult enough when neither of them had been there to argue for themselves. But perhaps the real reason he’d done it was to make sure he didn’t have to keep seeing that look in their eyes as he chose their futures for them.

“Flint won’t exist, because I will have unmade him, not because I will have killed the man bearing the name. I told you of Thomas Hamilton. He is on this ship, in this very moment, showing Flint that he doesn’t need to make the world burn with his rage.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not. I could take you to them right now if you demanded it, but I would not want to interrupt their reunion. We will sit down later, the four of us, and we will figure out where to go next. Together.” He turned, on his way to the door and looked at her again. “Think of what you want to accomplish, now that there is no war.”

The escaped slaves from the plantation were fed and clothed in more suitable attires. With the amount of men lost in recent times it was not a difficult task. Clothing and food were also sent into the captain’s cabin, currently occupied by Flint and Hamilton. Otherwise they were not disturbed.

John spent the remainder of the day on deck, watching their slow progress south. It was unnerving not to have DeGroot there with him, worse still that Flint was not there to council and judge his orders. But John had managed it all the way to Savannah, he would manage it back as well.

Night offered little consolation. He could not go to the captain’s cabin where he had spent the trip north, and he could not go to the cabin where he kept Madi. Hour after hour he refused to make the choice, until he was so tired it was difficult keeping himself awake even standing.

In the end he went below decks to find himself an unoccupied hammock in a corner and dozed.

*

They were awake when he entered the cabin, sitting in the window seat facing each other, feet propped up between them, each leaning back against the windowsill.

“I think it’s time we talked.”

“You do, do you?” John let no outward sign of his fear slip as he took the seat behind the captain’s desk, leaving the others to sit on spindly chairs on the other side as if he had any authority over them. As things stood now, he did. And it made him feel wretched.

“There will be no rebellion. There will be no war to free the New World of English rule. There will be no more death, no more loss, no more nightmare. I will propose a treaty which ensures this. A treaty that allows the Maroons and the pirates alike to settle in Nassau and other dedicated places and live in freedom, pardoned of all crimes.”

“And who will you propose this treaty to? Who will accept it, who will honour it?”

“Rackham told you Mr Guthrie refused his offer. His wife did not.”

“You expect us to lay down arms? To give up now when we are so close to the victory we’ve been fighting for? Everything we have done, everything we have sacrificed would have been for _nothing_.”

“Shut. Up.” John growled. “I am sick of hearing this from you, I’m sick of it! Stop pretending that this would not be a victory, a victory in which we could all survive and thrive, a victory in which Nassau would be left alone to our rule, can’t you see –”

“What about the rest of them? What of my brothers and sisters in chains all over the New World? What of their children, and their children’s children?”

“What do you expect us to _do_?” His voice was almost desperate, tired, pleading. “We can’t wage war on the world. Can’t you see that it is better to create for ourselves a safe harbour where any man or woman can take refuge and live their lives in safety?”

“You are condemning all the rest to a life of unsurpassed horrors, for your own cowardice.” His cowardice, oh yes his cowardice below decks when the men were fighting a hopeless battle up top, the cowardice of a cook who was no cook, of a man who knew how to _live_ , who, for the first time in his life wanted _someone else_ to _live_.

“My cowardice? What haven’t I given to sit where I sit today? What have I not done? I am no coward, but I will not watch you kill yourselves. I will not let you die _for nothing_!”

“It is not for nothing if a _single_ slave is freed, it is not for nothing if –”

“This is what it will be. This is what I will offer them, and they will accept it. You know they will. There is no other outcome in this war.” The finality with which he said it must’ve reached them, because Madi deflated in the face of it, and Flint looked away without argument.

“I fail to see my plot in this,” Hamilton said. His quite voice was a shock in the room. He had been silent, watching with fascination as they shouted at one another. His eyes were drawn to Madi more often than John was comfortable with, though he could not discern his reason for watching her.

“You’re here for one single reason. To make Flint lay down arms and retire. To take him away from here, away from Nassau, away from the sea for all I care. You’re here to make sure Captain Flint is no more.”

“It seems you have assumed quite a lot about me, Mr Silver. Am I to understand by this that I am not a prisoner? That I am free to do whatever I please?”

“Yes.” Thomas rose from his chair and walked around the small room.

“And say, if I wanted to return to England with Woodes Rogers, to offer him my support in this trying time, would you let me do that too? Would _you_?” He looked first at John, then his eyes found and stayed on Flint.

For long moments Flint said nothing, and John found himself unable to know what Flint wanted to answer. Perhaps he didn’t know it himself.

“Yes. If that is your wish, I could not stop you from doing it. I intend to hold no man prisoner. Especially not out of a feeling of _obligation_ to me.” Hamilton’s eyes softened.

“Well, you’re in luck. I have no devotion toward England anymore, no devotion toward Woodes Rogers or my old plan, no devotion toward Nassau or that fucking island. And –” He’d come around, to stand beside Flint where he could look down on him like God on high. “I have no devotion toward _you_. Not until I know for certain that you have not _lost all reason_ in this mad-man’s pursuit of yours!”

“You seem to go off the assumption that I had any reason to begin with.”

“I know you did. Between you and I, you were the most reasonable one. But this – this _endeavour_ of yours… I understand the sentiment, don’t doubt that I do, but you have declared war on the fucking _world_ , James!” John had not expected the strength of feeling or the way it affected Hamilton physically. He was trembling with his anger – though John didn’t think it was anger, not exactly. No, he did not know exactly what it was, but it was frightening to behold that energy bursting forth from such a man.

“England –”

“Yes, England! You want to fuck England, but before you go out and do it don’t forget that England’s cock is bigger than yours, and we both know that’s saying something!” Hadn’t it been for the fury in Hamilton’s voice, John was sure the embarrassment he felt would have been tenfold. He looked at Flint and expected discomfort, not a half-angry half-impressed baring of teeth. “I know that Mr Silver have betrayed you, both of you. I understand your ill will toward him, your anger and your stubbornness. But listen to me, as an outsider, as someone who has no history here; a war has never solved anything. A war will not bring the long-term resolution you desire. A war will do nothing but kill you, and I am as reluctant as Mr Silver to see that happening.” He sounded like a scolding father. _John_ felt scolded, and he had not been attacked. He wanted to see something of the same feeling on Flint’s face, but what he found there was only proud defiance, laced with an undercurrent of resignation that was only too familiar.

“We’re on our way from Savannah to Maroon Island. I can drop the two of you off at any point between here and there, except Nassau. You can bring as many of your friends from the plantation as you wish, but they’re welcome to stay with us should they like,” John offered. “Flint?”

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I? Rackham demands my life, you demand my silence, and my men aren’t really my men anymore. This alliance that we have built will crumble the moment you start talking about your treaty, and there will be no hope for our rebellion.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“No.” Hamilton put his hands on Flint’s shoulders and leaned heavily on him. He sounded tired. “No, we won’t go.”

“Rackham will demand his life. It will leave me with two options: kill Flint or attack my partners. That is not a situation you want to put me in.”

“No, he won’t need James. We’ll give him something better.” He sighed. “We’ll give him me.”


	2. Hope is a better morn

Thomas was leaning against the railing at the front of the ship. He wasn’t watching the sea, rather his eyes were turned inward on this small community aboard the ship. James had taken control of the ship again after their conversation with Mr Silver, and they called him captain without confusion. Thomas would have wanted to watch the sea, if he could look away from James without discomfort, without fear.

He’d at first felt disbelief that the man he knew as James McGraw had turned into the dreaded pirate Captain Flint. Then James told him, like he said he’d told Miranda less than a year ago, of where the name came from, and why he had chosen it. It pained him to know that he’d been released so soon after Miranda’s death; that he had missed her, so to speak, by so short a time. But then again, he probably would not have been released at all hadn’t she died.

James’ eyes met his across the ship again. His expression didn’t change that Thomas could tell, but he seemed to have difficulty tearing his eyes away. Thomas understood his reluctance.

“You were his lover,” she said. “You knew him before he became who he is now.”

“Yes.”

“I have had my opinions of him, I have mistrusted him, I have doubted him. But I want you to know that I think his intent is good and true. Our methods may be questioned but do not ever doubt our intent, our wish to make this world a better place for our people. Do not judge him too harshly.” She was a beautiful young woman, regal and self-assured.

“I must admit that I am quite intrigued by you, Princess.”

“And I by you, my Lord.”

“Not a lord anymore. Just Thomas.” He truly did not know what he felt about that, though there might have been a trace of resentment in his voice. At the plantation he’d been just Thomas, but now he was free, and he could be exactly the man he wanted to be, except the one he’d been _before_.

“And I am just Madi.”

“It’s better than a dead body in the sea,” Thomas told her, and could not hide some of the irritation in his voice.

“You understand why I want to fight.” It was a statement, not a question. Her eyes bore into his as if daring him to deny it.

“I understand why you want to _resist_. I don’t understand why you want to kill.” Her pretty brows drew together in proud defiance, but she said nothing. “Isn’t the best we can do in the face of their oppression to live and be happy in defiance of them and the misery they try to inflict on us?”

“No, that would be to free them all and deny England the exploitation of people it sees as something less than human.”

“You have the ambition of youth. Don’t forget that you’re not invincible. You have to figure out what you think will be most effective, the work you can do for a year or two until you die fighting this war, or the work you can do if you live for 50 years, think of the foundations you might build.”

“It does not feel enough.” Her confession was to the sea, but Thomas saw her face out of the corner of his eye. She was so young, yet old before her time. James had introduced a heavy task to her, and while Thomas didn’t doubt that she could carry it, it would wear at her. “It feels like giving up on this war is giving up on the hopes of all the slaves out there. It feels like condemning them, it feels like wielding the knife that cuts their futures from them. It feels like all my ancestors watch me with shame, that I should give up this close to victory.”

“My dear,” Thomas said and took her dark hand in both of his. “You must learn that the world is not your responsibility. It is the curse of youth, to feel that the entire world is on your shoulders and that all eyes are on you, expecting the impossible of you. But it is not true. What haven’t you already done? How many people haven’t you already helped save? By all accounts you have already done more than your share to make the world a better place, and still you insist on going forward, do more. Don’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control, but take pride in your relentless pursuit to make the world a better place.”

*

He’d been given a leather vest and boots, and a pair of brown trousers. He supposed it was to make him look a bit less innocent, the dark colours. He supposed he didn’t mind, at least not the way James studied him as he made his perilous way across the ship toward him. He had not found his sea-legs yet.

“I’m surprised he let you wear your weapons,” Thomas quipped.

“He can’t afford having the crew think there’s discord between us now. We’re all that’s kept these men together for months, and by now I barely know a fraction of them. It’s no wonder he’s managed to turn their allegiance toward himself instead of me. But that doesn’t mean they don’t look to me as much as they do to him.” Thomas put his hip to the railing, facing James with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’re a very stubborn man.”

“You always knew that.” James prodded one of his hands away and put it against the railing, covering it with his own. “You can’t imagine what it feels like, to see you alive after all these years when I never went looking for you, never doubted that you’d killed yourself. If I hadn’t been so busy losing my mind with happiness, I might have killed myself from guilt by now.” Only James could say he was losing his mind with happiness with an expression of mild boredom on his face.

“Oh, James,” Thomas sighed. He denied the fear that came bubbling to the surface as he stood behind James and put his arms around him in full view of everyone on deck. “Are you sure they won’t care about this?”

“Some of these people have seen me do things, unspeakable things, singlehandedly that still give them nightmares. Some of them have only heard the stories of those things, and still it gives them nightmares. They know what will happen to them if they care about this and I hear about it. Captain Flint is that menacing a figure and I won’t hide the truth of it from you.”

“If I weren’t so busy being deliriously happy to be with you again, I might have killed you myself by now.”

“Hmpf. I’d like to see you try.” Thomas could feel the vibrations of James’ voice all the way into his old, creaking bones, and they warmed him.

“From what I hear you’re unable to die, an unnatural creature risen from the sea to punish the unworthy.”

“Perhaps I am. It is uncanny, that for all that I’ve been through I’m still alive and mostly intact. I owe a debt to the sea that my own death would not be enough to repay.”

“The sea can’t have you. Not as long as I have a say in the matter.”

It started raining in the evening, the weather outside constantly tapping against the windows of the captain’s cabin. They were losing their favourable wind, James told him. There was a tension in the crew, a fear that could be tasted on the tip of his tongue. He didn’t understand it until James hailed everyone and informed them that it was unlikely they lose the wind altogether.

“No need to worry, friends. We’ll conjure a storm for you if we have to.” Chuckles spread through the gathered pirates at Mr Silver’s comment.

“They’re more afraid of the doldrums than a shipkiller,” James said to him when they retired together. He told him the story of weeks without wind and shark-fishery on an empty stomach.

When they lay listening to the rain, Thomas listened also to the beat of James’ heart, as strong and powerful as he looked. A thing that refused to die.

“There are two currents in me, two voices fighting. I can’t decide which to listen to.”

“Hm?” James’ chest vibrated with his humming.

“I long to be with you, to kiss you and touch you in all the ways and all the places I’ve dreamt of doing for the last ten years. The more rational part of me keeps reminding me of how much we’ve changed, of how our jagged edges might not match anymore, of how even if we match, it’s too soon. That it must grow naturally, like it did then, step by step as we realise that our affections are not just memories of a lost past.”

“That sounded too poetic to be rational.”

“James, I’m being serious.”

“I’d let your jagged edges leave me bleeding in the grass if it could bring you any measure of happiness.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of. And that if I’m with you now, without knowing you, without – without that intimacy of knowing each other completely, that it will be only pleasure.”

“I’ve never had that experience when being with you before. I don’t see why it should be like that now. I still know you, who you are at the core of your being.”

“You’re a devil James. You only say this because you want my cock. Oh, what lot I have drawn in life to be in love with a harlot.” James bent his head down and kissed him and it didn’t feel like nothing, didn’t feel like just pleasure, it felt like transcendence. Thomas scooted up along James’ thick chest and gave himself to that kiss, the meeting of lips, two souls finding each other again and realising that beneath it all they were still the same. It was the last argument against Thomas’ greatest fear, which had always been – since he began to lose his mind in bedlam, at least – that he had somehow conjured this love, this man. That he had sprung from his imagination. Now he knew that it was true, that he loved and was loved without conditions.

Thomas lost track of how long they spent kissing, but the rain kept lapping at the windows and Thomas thought he would never be able to stop now that he’d begun. He was home, he _was_ home, truly, and he didn’t want to leave. James’ hands kept tracing his face as they kissed, gentled into his hair, stroked his back in slow, languid movements.

When James got up it was only to bring the lantern closer and pull his shirt over his head. Thomas reached out and felt his stomach, hard with muscle. James might not be a very tall man but he was built like a bear.

“Are you calling me fat?”

“I’m imagining how good it’ll feel when you press me into the blankets.” It did feel good, and it felt good the way James’ fingertips traced his cheekbones, and the way they could look into each other’s eyes without insecurity. James had changed, Thomas wouldn’t deny it, but his shorn hair felt good against the skin of his palms.

“I’m going to let it grow back out.”

“Why?”

“Because this version of Captain Flint is ready to be returned to the sea.” They resumed their languid kissing and touching for a while before James pulled Thomas’ shirt from his trousers and worked it off him. “Do you want me to have you or the other way around?”

“I’m fine like this.”

“On your front then, my lord.” James found oil for them while Thomas shimmied out of his clothes and made himself comfortable with his head pillowed on his arms. James kissed along the back of his neck as he started working him open.

“Have you been with many people since London?”

“You wanna talk about this now?” James’ finger stilled inside him.

“Why not?”

“I forget you never stop talking as long as you’re able. I hope I’m not boring you.” He wriggled his finger. Thomas turned only to give him a look. “At the beginning, Miranda and I did well enough with each other. Then I spent so much time at sea that we started drifting apart. When we heard of your death it snuffed out the last bit of hope we had harboured. It didn’t feel right to be with anyone on the crew, seeing as I was their captain. I’m sure some of them would have wanted it as much as I, but it would be hard to figure out who that was, so I decided not to bother. I went to the brothel in Nassau once, but the boy they kept there was too young for my tastes, so I had a woman instead. It was enjoyable but not what I was looking for. Mostly when I was with other men it was in different ports. It happened occasionally, but not regularly.”

“And most recently?” James had two fingers in him now, but he was still lying, pressed along Thomas’ body like he couldn’t tolerate any distance between them. His words were lover’s words whispered in a lover’s ear.

“At the Maroon camp, a short while after we were released from the cages. One of the maroons led me to my hut and saw to it that I could wash and shave. He didn’t speak much English, but we understood each other well enough.”

“So, ah that’s nice – there is someone waiting for you back there?”

“No, it was just that once. Another?” Thomas nodded. “What about you?”

“I uhm, I spent three and a half years of celibacy in Bedlam. _Oh_. And didn’t do it myself much either, because the conditions weren’t… favourable to plea-ah hm, pleasure. I spent a year reorienting to the daylight after Peter shipped me to Savannah, getting _used – oh –_ to the work and the environment. I was dreadfully ill the first few months and when I could work it exhausted me. _Oh, James_.” He spread his legs wider and pressed back against James’ fingers. “After that I had my share of company, but it was only ever utilitarian. There has been – ah, there has been no one. _No one_ since you.” James flipped him onto his back and kissed him, a desperate press of lonely lips.

“Ready?”

“Mhm.”

The time for talking was over, and Thomas couldn’t form sentences even if he’d wanted to. James was above him, James was inside him, James was looking like he was finally returning home from a journey that had lasted a lifetime.

“Do you want me to pull out when I – ?”

“NO! No, no – please.” He grabbed James’ arse with both his hands and James put their mouths together again and they were coming in their rhythmic coupling, swallowing each other’s moans, each other’s pain, each other’s pasts. “No one,” Thomas was muttering. “No one, no one, no one…”

*

“You are still you, James. I recognise you. I see the Lieutenant from Padstow in your eyes and I feel him when I touch you and I hear him when you speak.”

“I see you too.” They kissed again, they couldn’t seem to stop. James cleaned them up and rearranged them, so Thomas was lying on his chest again. Lord, but James was so much larger now than he used to be, or perhaps that was just the years of separation.

“I love you, James. The man underneath it all. I love him. I may not approve of your actions, but I understand your rage and I am not here to pass judgement. I know what you seek, and it is a noble pursuit. I’ll help you go about it a better way if you will let me. But you will need to relent to me, you understand that. And the relationship I have with that man, outside of this room, will be different. I will be honest and determined, and I will not be kind to him just because I love you.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything else of you, my lord. And you might find me less inclined to agree with you than I was before. I’ve seen things… done things that I wouldn’t have imagined before and it has shaped me and the way I see things now.”

“We’ll figure it out, James. We might have more trouble than we did before, but,” and now Thomas smiled, “strange pairs can achieve the most unexpected things.”

“I trust you, blindly maybe, but I do.”

“And I you.”

They couldn’t sleep together on the cot, it was too narrow for that, but Thomas took comfort knowing that James was on the floor right beside him, that he would have to step over him if he were to wake first. James was like a watchdog, there first if danger threatened. For the first time in a very long while Thomas felt completely at ease as he went to sleep.

James was not there when Thomas woke. Perhaps it was the breeze that had woken him, or a hitched breath, or the creaking of wood. James was staring out the open window. The moon was silver in his hair, a bleached line warning of age to come. Thomas joined him, looking out at the moon’s path over the gently dancing sea.

“It’s beautiful.” James didn’t answer. He was staring at the sea, face turned away and half in shadow. A pearl sparkled on his eyelashes, bright as a star in the moonlight. “James –”

“I’m _fine_.” He tried to take James’ face in his palms, but James twisted away. “I don’t – I’m not sad. I don’t know why I –”

“It’s alright, James. You’re allowed to cry. God knows I understand the sentiment.” Tentative fingers on James’ shoulder, inviting, promising comfort. All he had to do was turn into it. Thomas waited with bated breath, but James was painfully rigid beside him. The moonlight danced on the water, the rain had left off, the wind was picking up again and James was like a tree watching the approaching storm. He would break in the face of it.

Then his breath hitched, and he was still rigid, body like rock as he leaned his forehead on Thomas’ chest. Thomas let his arms around him and tried to soothe the turmoil.

“I don’t know what to think.” James’ voice was broken glass. “I don’t know what to feel, or who I am. I don’t know who I should be, or who I want to be. You have completely unmoored me. Again.”

“You are the same man you were yesterday, the same man you were a week, a month, a year ago. You are that man, James.” He was shaking his head in jerks, and Thomas’ arms softened about him, coerced him in. “You want freedom, to be _this_. You want the end of English rule because they ensure that we can’t be _this_. You want to rage at Mr Silver because he lied to you, but part of you want to thank him, and you’d prefer if that wasn’t true. But it is. You want to be Flint, you want to be the man you were when you met me in London. This man that I hold in my arms, this is him, but he is weathered and wary and the world has been cruel to him. When you speak to me, when you act around me, you shouldn’t first consider what James McGraw would have done and said in the same situation, because even if we had lived ten happy years in London, you would have changed. You know this.”

“I don’t know what to do,” James growled in that protective way of his. Protective of himself, of his feelings, of his battered heart.

“Then follow my lead, like you once did. I will lead you to a wanted outcome, but I will need your help along the way. The thing is, I have some idea where to start.”

*

He found Mr Silver in the captain’s cabin when James was on deck. Thomas couldn’t tell if he was actually looking at the maps or needing an excuse to see in what state they left the room after a night together. James had made the bed in the morning, the book was back in its shelf, nothing was out of order.

Mr Silver didn’t greet him with anything but a look before he returned to his maps, so Thomas closed the door behind himself and perched on the desk to gain his attention.

“I wanted to speak with you.”

“And was it to thank me for saving you from slavery, or saving the captain from getting himself killed?”

“I’m sorry, are you implying that I owe you something? I have done exactly as you wished me to and more, and not because you asked me to do it. I am the reason James can be in the same room as you, _I_ am the reason Madi might also begin to see the virtue of going about this in a more peaceful way.”

“That wasn’t what I said.” Thomas looked at Mr Silver, looked down on where he was sitting in the captain’s chair from his own perch on the desk, and he saw nothing in his face, nothing in his eyes. He seemed so completely blank Thomas wondered for a moment if there was enough inside him to make up a whole person. He wondered what kind of man James saw when he looked at him.

“James has told me about your relationship, he has told me about _you_. He seemed to believe you would be unhappy with him for doing so, but in the moment he was too angry to care. I’m afraid I find myself wondering what kind of person you are.”

The smile on Mr Silver’s face was like a knife, cold and unfeeling. “Keep wondering.”

“Oh, I wasn’t asking for answers, I had no such hope. But as you understand, I _have_ wondered, and I have thought about you quite a lot, Mr Silver. There are certain questions that arise in doing so, questions I hope _you_ have an answer for, not for me, but for yourself.”

“Is that so? You certainly don’t shy from taking liberties, Mr Hamilton.”

“Perhaps not. I never was known for my propriety. You need to think about what you want, Mr Silver, about what kind of man you want to be. James told me that you have convinced yourself that your own history is of no relevance, but I tell you now, and you should hear me clearly, that what you do from now on, the choices you make from this day forward, they _are_ of relevance. They will make you, shape you. You cannot resist being shaped like a proper human being forever, you can only decide which form you take.”

“You have some nerve,” Mr Silver growled as he stood up with his palms pressing heavily into the wood of the desk, making it groan beneath his weight, “coming in here and talking to me in that way.” Every story Thomas had heard of pirates came to mind in the face of this one. He looked the part, to the letter Mr Silver looked the part of the pirate. Perhaps too well. _You’re a liar, Mr Silver_. Thomas wondered if it was innate, or if it was a choice.

“I have plans for the future, Mr Silver. James is a part of that. If you wish to be so too, I need to trust you. In this moment I chose to trust you. Become the kind of person who deserves it.” The whites of Mr Silver’s eyes were red.

“Plans,” he huffed. “I took Flint’s war from him, I denied him the future he’d chosen for himself, I denied him his dreams and his desperation and his rage. And I gave him _you_. I can’t give him over to Rackham now, after everything I – _I_ suffered, to ensure we are where we are today. I cannot give him up that easily.”

“Don’t worry about what Captain Rackham might do when we reach him, I have stronger reasons than you for not seeing him kill my James. Like I told you, I have plans for the future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I find you all in good health for this next installment, don't forget to be mindful, no matter how sick you are of quarantine.
> 
> I am, as always, anxious to hear your thoughts on this chapter!
> 
> If you're on tumblr, come join me right [here](https://northwisesun.tumblr.com/) !
> 
> Until next time, friends.


	3. When in doubt, trust

Captain Jack Rackham was waiting for them just outside the Maroon Island, just as Mr Silver had predicted. He wasted not a moment to hail them, and soon enough they were close enough to communicate. There was a tension in the air that made Thomas’ skin crawl. James wasn’t on deck, so Thomas looked behind himself and found strength in Paul’s eyes instead.

Mr Silver invited the other captain aboard his ship, but Captain Rackham refused. In a sign of good faith, and to James’ livid protestations (he’d showed himself to prove that he was still alive), Thomas was rowed across to the other ship together with Mr Silver.

“You seem awfully confident that this is going to work,” Mr Silver said. The man looked so young sometimes, when the sun was shining in his eyes and he looked at you out of the corner of his eye like he was trying to figure you out. Thomas couldn’t help but wonder, though he kept it to himself.

“I am.” Short half a leg though he was, Mr Silver was nimbler than Thomas up the side of Captain Rackham’s ship, and offered a hand to steady him. Thomas accepted the help, mostly because the gesture took him by surprise.

“Who are _you_?” Captain Rackham was a skinny, ratty fellow, Thomas thought. He had the most peculiar facial hair he’d ever seen. Thomas straightened.

“Lord Thomas Hamilton. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Captain.” Captain Rackham shook his hand in a loose grip, looking appalled like he was suspecting Thomas of carrying a plague. Or perhaps he had never seen a lord in pirate’s clothes before. “We have some delicate business to discuss, Captain. Perhaps your cabin would be more suitable.”

“Uhuh.” Once in the cabin, the Captain seemed to force himself out of his strange humour. “I’m sorry, I fail to understand why you’re here… Lord Hamilton. All I want is Flint, then I’ll let you go. And _we_ ,” he looked at Mr Silver, “will continue as planned.”

“I’m afraid there has been a change of circumstance. I believe that I can offer you something better than Captain Flint, Captain.”

“It’s non-negotiable, my partner has been very clear about that.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” Thomas chuckled. James’ life hang in the balance, and Thomas was _smiling_.

“I’m sorry, should I?” Mr Silver shrugged when Captain Rackham turned his bewildered eyes toward him.

“I’m Lord Thomas Hamilton,” Thomas repeated, “And I can only imagine Mrs Guthrie’s delight when I present myself as the solution to Nassau’s current situation. She can hardly have anything to say against my… good friend James McGraw. No, as I see it, my offer to her would so overshadow Flint’s distant presence she wouldn’t think of him at all. I am sure she and I can come to an understanding that is agreeable to all of us. Without bloodshed. If it doesn’t work, you can drown Captain Flint in the harbour in Philadelphia for all I care.” Captain Rackham blinked a few times before he licked his lips.

“So, if I understand you correctly, you want me to haul both you and Flint all the way to Philadelphia just to give _you_ a minute with Mrs Guthrie, to delay Flint’s death by what, a few weeks? Because I can assure you, _my lord_ , that Mrs Guthrie is a not a woman easily swayed.”

“Oh, I’m counting on that,” Thomas assured him. The Captain’s eyes narrowed, but then he yanked the chair from behind the captain’s desk and sat down, gesturing for them to do the same.

*

Mr Silver was not easily embarrassed. During their trip back to the other ship, where James was waiting for them with a scowl that Thomas was not too fond of, his stare was hot and mildly threatening against Thomas’ neck the entire time. Several times Thomas turned his head and caught his eyes, hoping to make him look away. He never did, and they didn’t speak a word to each other.

Mr Silver brushed past him back on the ship, and motioned for the rest of them to follow his angry steps toward the captain’s cabin.

Thomas expected Mr Silver to explain it all, but when Madi closed the door behind them, he only kept looking at Thomas, now expectantly. His scowl was frighteningly similar to James’.

“Mr Silver will be returning to the Maroon Island with this ship to propose the treaty and discourage any and every attempt at a revolution in these waters. I assume you will want to go with him, Princess.” Madi nodded. “Meanwhile, James and I will return with Mr Rackham –”

“ _What?!_ ”

“- to Philadelphia, where I am to have a meeting with Mrs Guthrie. James, do you have objections?”

“They’re going to kill me the moment I step onto that ship and dump you in Philadelphia if they don’t kill you too!”

“They won’t,” Mr Silver said, resigned. “Rackham doesn’t want to kill you, not if there is another option.”

“And you’re so sure of that, are you?” James’ chest was heaving. Thomas tried to catch his eye, but he refused to look at him.

“Yes! I’m fucking sure of it. He never wanted to kill you, he respects you too much for that. You’re going with them in case Mr Hamilton fails. Which he _won’t_.”

When James took his anger outside, Thomas trailed after him to the railing where he was staring in the direction of Captain Rackham’s ship.

“If anyone tries to hurt you, if anyone tries to kill or to take you from me in any way, I will do everything I can to kill them first.”

“What?” James’ eyes spoke volumes about his disbelief at the claim.

“I would,” Thomas insisted. His voice had grown cold, his hands grabbed at James like they were claws.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I told Captain Rackham that should I fail to convince Mrs Guthrie of my usefulness to her, they could do what they wished with you, but I would kill anyone on that ship before I let that happen, though I do suspect they would kill me first. It doesn’t matter, it’s the sentiment that counts.”

“Thomas –”

“No, James. I have changed these ten years too, and I will not pretend that I haven’t. I’m not as forgiving as I used to be, and I will not pretend to be your pampered lord, _I am a slave_. An escaped slave, yes, but it shapes you in ways you’d prefer it didn’t. Do not think that I don’t mean the words I say, James. That is one thing that has not changed, I will always be honest toward you. Do not do me the disservice of doubting me.”

“You’re not a slave,” James insisted, and Thomas could almost picture the man he’d been, the man James still thought he was. It made him angry, that James refused to look the reality of their situation in the eye.

“For all the times I spoke out of line, looked at one of the overseers the wrong way, laughed a bit too loudly.” Thomas held up his wrists to show him. Thick scars circled his wrists, from the chains they’d put him in. There were newer scabs there too, that Thomas couldn’t help but pick at till they bled, just to make sure that he could still bleed. He would not let James deny his suffering.

*

They were mostly ignored on Captain Rackham’s ship. Most of the crew seemed to swerve out of James’ way instinctively and it suited them just fine. They were given a secluded corner to hang their hammocks and took their meals together at the back of the galley. Thomas wouldn’t have minded mingling with the rest of the sailors, but they avoided him as well.

Captain Rackham was the only one who willingly engaged him in conversation, though he still kept his distance from James. Thomas learned little from their talks, but it was refreshing none the less, to talk so freely with someone, without the history that lingered between him and James.

A few days after their separation from the other ship, Thomas beckoned James into the Captain’s cabin where Captain Rackham had offered Thomas the use of his razor. The sun was still high in the sky and glinting off the water, leaving the room pleasantly bright.

“I thought you could shave me, James, if you don’t mind. Like you did in London that time.”

“Shave you?”

“Yes, this detestable beard. I hate it, but I’m afraid my fingers aren’t as used to the task as they were. I’m sure your… capabilities with a blade have only increased in these last ten years.” James’ smile was wry in return, and Thomas kissed it. He couldn’t help himself, there was something so McGraw in that smile, despite the shorn head and the beard and the echo of desperation itched into his skin.

“You sure you dare let me near your throat with a knife in my hand?” James teased as Thomas pulled his shirt over his head. He did not miss the underlying tone of self-deprecation in James’ voice.

“I distinctly remember what happened that time Miranda pulled your sword from its scabbard and pressed it against your neck. It was not fear that made you squirm. Let’s see if I have the same reaction.” He winked as he sat down, and did not show James the pain he felt, talking of Miranda, of London, of happier days. He would be light and airy and happy, so long as it could bring that smile to James’ face.

“Alright.” James prepared him, then stood behind Thomas and tipped his head back against his own belly with a sweet finger under his chin. Thomas closed his eyes and gave himself to the gentle touches, to the scrape of the razor on his throat and James’ even breathing above him. James’ hands were steady, firm and gentle at the same time. Just a nick of the razor, an unexpected wave, a tremble in James’ hand separated him from bleeding out in a boat on the Atlantic Ocean, and Thomas’ head swam with it, his heart swelled with happiness at himself, that he was able to prove to James his trust in this way.

James brushed his face with a wet towel and tipped his head forward again. When Thomas opened his eyes, James was kneeling on the floor in front of him, looking like he was confronting a ghost.

“Do I look that old?” Thomas murmured. His fingers found the coarse hair on James’ chin as James’ hands burned into his thighs. James buried his face in Thomas’ lap, and he couldn’t figure out if the shaking of his shoulders were from crying or laughing. Perhaps it was a bit of both.

“I fucking miss you, Thomas. So much, and you’re here, and I don’t know…” His breathing grew shallower and Thomas recognised the symptoms of his panic. He stroked the slight fuzz on his head and gave him time to recover.

“I’m here now, and I have no intention of being taken from you again. You’ll have plenty of time to do everything you’ve been wanting to do to me the last decade. Unless you think I’ve lost my youthful beauty of course.” James snorted, like he’d hoped.

“I can’t believe you. You’re the most handsome man, the only one worth looking at –” James hesitated, then looked up with a wry smile. “The only one worth fucking. I can’t believe I took that comfort in _others_ for _years_.” He looked properly appalled and amused at the same time, so Thomas kissed him.

“Yes, exactly how did you manage that? I must admit I’d have assumed you to be too wracked with guilt and shame to enjoy yourself.” James snorted again, which Thomas had not expected.

“I figured it was the best way to honour your memory, defying England’s rules and fucking men.” Oh, and if that wasn’t – Thomas laughed out loud, and kept laughing even when James bit hard into his thigh and climbed into his lap.

*

It grew steadily colder the further north they travelled, and Thomas was grateful for the leather coat someone had managed to produce for him at Mr Silver’s command before they parted ways. After a while not even that could warm him, and as James was not as careless about affection as he’d been on his own ship, Thomas kept shivering. They tried to sleep in the same hammock once, but it proved impossible. So they huddled, like everyone else, and soon enough they were sailing up the river, ever drawing closer to the hour of judgement.

“Look at this,” Mr Rackham said when they were berthed and handed James some papers. They were in the cabin where James had been imprisoned for the time being, seeing as he could not show his face on land in fear of being recognised. “And they call us the thieves!” James barely glanced at the papers.

“I need new clothes before I see Mrs Guthrie, Captain. As I have no coin of my own for the moment, I has hope you could lend me some. I will of course pay it back at my soonest convenience.”

“Of course, I’ll fetch you when I’m ready.”

“What a garish yellow that coat of his is,” Thomas said when the man had left, “And yet I find that it quite suits him. Do you think I should try the same colour?”

“God no, spare us the misery. Go with some deep red, like the one you wore to the docks, you remember?”

“You remember that one? It was old, a bit boring, don’t you think?”

“It was plain and simple, but I liked the colour on you, and I think it will take more to impress Mrs Guthrie than pretty clothes.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Thomas pulled James into his arms and kissed him again because they had a moment to themselves for bloody once and James was looking like that, handsome and grave. Thomas was kissing promises into sceptical lips when James tried to distract him with worries. When that didn’t help, he invaded James’s mouth with his tongue, trying to make him lose control like he sometimes did when Thomas pushed too hard, wanted too much. His tongue was deep in James’ mouth when Captain Rackham returned to the cabin.

“What -! I’m sorry? Are you -”

“Djack!” Thomas barely had time to drop his hands before they were walked in on again, this time by a small woman, lavishly dressed, and beautiful still when her face drew together in fury as she caught sight of James. “What in the hell is he doing ‘ere?” Thomas stepped in front of James, for whose protection he didn’t know.

“You must be Madam Max. I’m delighted to meet you, I’m Lord Thomas –”

“Why is he here, Jack?!”

“Hamilton.”

“The situation has changed, Lord Hamilton –” The woman’s eyes darted between he and James, perceptive and angry.

“Yes, it has. You two, leave us.” Thomas instinctively tried to obey, but James held him back.

“I can’t be seen on deck.” The woman growled and left in a whirlwind. Captain Rackham followed her, then beckoned for Thomas to do the same. He kissed James again before he went, noting and ignoring the look of confused dread on his face.

“What is _he_ doing here?”

“Max, _please_ , just hear me out.”

“Then you hear me first! Mrs Guthrie won’t accept our proposal if I do not marry, and I have refused to do it. Flint must die or this whole thing is unsalvageable.”

“I don’t see why he has to die; Mrs Guthrie hasn’t heard my proposal yet.”

“Who the _fuck_ are you?”

“A new partner. He believes he can offer Mrs Guthrie something that will make her relent and let Flint live. He offers to become governor in Nassau himself.” Max huffed.

“And how stupid is he?”

“It seems to me that my proposal would benefit you as well, _Madam_.” Thomas said. It was decidedly bizarre to see such a beautiful, elegant woman speak the way she did. “If I became governor, you wouldn’t have to marry at all.”

“She will not accept anyone but me in power, she has made it clear to me.”

“I don’t see why this changes anything. I’ll be governor in name only, and act as your adviser.”

“Hmpf, you would let a woman – a woman like me – rule before you?”

“I have no ambition to rule over anything. All I want is a stable Nassau and a place I can live in freedom and prosperity.” She set her dark eyes in his, and he did not look away. “Now, if you will excuse me. It is not you I have to convince.”

*

Flint did not enjoy the time spent alone in the captain’s cabin on the _Eurydice_ when Thomas was gone to beg for his life, as if he was too cowardly to go himself, or at least to face his death with dignity. He didn’t like that Thomas was gone, he didn’t like the lack of control he felt at the entire situation. Simply imagining Thomas alone with Max and Rackham made him uncomfortable, and that again was like kindling to the fire of his anger.

Flint had thought his heart was about to give out when he’d seen Thomas again, entering the cabin on the _Lion_ behind Silver. Of all the things he’d expected, of all the outcomes he’d predicted to this war, holding Thomas had never been one of them. He hadn’t ever let himself entertain the notion that he might still be alive, because what kind of man did that make Flint? When he’d failed to save him from misery for ten years? He’d had to distract himself, to pin Silver against the wall for the simple reason of the familiarity of it, the heaving chest beneath his forearm, the wide blue eyes that looked at him like he _knew_ him. Not even the knife Silver had held at his throat had been foreign. In the last few months, he’d felt too often that that was exactly how this would turn out. His own life’s blood spilled on Silver’s fingers. He’d understood it, prepared for it. But _this_. He hadn’t been able to look the reality of his failure in the eyes, so he’d bared his throat to Silver’s knife willingly.

He’d underestimated Thomas’ knack for pacifying his worst instincts, his own self-doubt, the self-hatred he still nursed like a cup of rum. Because who was he if he didn’t in some way hate himself? That nagging had always been a part of him, though the cause of it had changed with the years.

However it was, when Thomas looked at him after Silver had left, that was all it took for the world to fade, for the voices to still inside his head. For a blessed moment, Flint could not be reached by anything but Thomas’ hands and they forced the reality of his existence into Flint’s very bones. How could he not accept it? How could he not know that it was good, that everything would be good, when Thomas – _Thomas_ – looked at him like that?

And now he was left alone in a silent room with nothing to entertain himself, nothing that could pull him from his own thoughts and all the words they hadn’t said.

Thomas had his own ghosts now, that Flint knew nothing about. It was plain on his skin, in his eyes. His mannerisms had changed completely. Thomas never used to fidget, to claw at his scabs. His eyes didn’t use to bounce around the room like they did now, his shoulders never used to hunch around his ears when someone approached with heavy steps like he was protecting himself from something that Flint couldn’t fight.

Flint was trying to figure out whether he wanted to know everything that had happened to Thomas in their years apart, or nothing at all, when he heard the commotion on deck that announced their return.

Thomas was white from the cold, shivering even in his fur-lined coat. He was – Flint stopped in his tracks upon seeing him. He was Lord Thomas Hamilton, complete with the professional expression, fine clothing and tall stature Flint had been met with the very first time.

“How did it go?” Flint asked instead of the embrace he’d intended to give.

“She is a very peculiar woman.” Thomas seemed bothered as he brushed the hat from his head. He had refused outright to get a wig, but his dress was a fetching maroon. “I admire her, and I think she was impressed by me. She knew my name of course. I thought for a moment that I’d given too hard a shock to her heart, she was still for minutes, pausing in her bloody sowing for once. Oh for – James, come and give me warmth, I’m freezing my balls off.” Flint couldn’t ignore such a request, however much he wanted to admire the sight, so he embraced Thomas with one arm, bringing the other to his crotch to warm him there too. His chuckle was half-choked.

“She is a very stubborn woman. Very stubborn. Hm, good lord, man you can’t keep your hand there if you expect me to tell you anything about this meeting because I _will_ ravage you instead.”

“Come now, certainly my lord has grown too old for – ow!” Thomas had aged, he couldn’t deny it. His hair was shot through with silver and his crow’s feet had deepened. His face had been darkened and hardened by the sun, and despite it all Flint thought him more handsome than he could ever have imagined him.

“There’s what you get for insolence, you dirty pirate.” There was a knock at the door and they jumped apart, then kindly received the food that had been sent up to them.

“She is willing to see me as governor, under some few conditions,” Thomas said as they ate. _Governor_. Flint hadn’t thought Thomas had the strength nor the will for such a purpose, but apparently he did. He wondered briefly what part _he_ was to play in this scheme.

“And they are?”

“Oh, some details about what our purpose will be, and Madam Max’s role in it all. She quite likes that young lady, and I’m beginning to understand it.”

“Max is… extraordinary. I’ve underestimated her in the past and will not do so again. I took notice of her in Nassau after she became Madam in the –” How much did Thomas know about Max?

“In the brothel, yes I know. We talked.”

“You and Max? Why?”

“Well… Mrs Guthrie had one last condition.” Thomas was fidgeting again, pulling the pad of his thumb along the knife’s edge seemingly without knowing that he was doing it at all. “I – uh. I might have to marry her.”

“Marry Mrs Guthrie?! I thought her husband was still –” Thomas barked a laugh at that but grew solemn again too soon.

“No, Madam Max. It might be the only way Mrs Guthrie will accept this arrangement and ignore your continued existence.”

He must’ve been mistaken, or Flint had misheard – surely he didn’t mean… He looked up into Thomas’ eyes but there was no mistake there, nothing to dissuade the storm of emotions rising in Flint’s chest. Thomas was going to marry Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few days later than I intended to post this, so I'm sorry for the wait. I got so consumed by _reading_ fanfiction I forgot to write my own *facepalm*.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this, I love to hear what you think!
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> Windows


	4. Home is not a place

“Marry _Max_? Max, that Max? You’re going to _marry_ her?” He remembered Max, beckoning him in the brothel one time when he’d been looking for Eleanor. He remembered her turning away from Eleanor, he remembered… And Thomas, _his Thomas_ , was going to marry her? “I don’t understand.”

“I know that this isn’t ideal, and I know that it must hurt you, but Mrs Guthrie will not accept our proposal unless Madam Max marries the governor. She would prefer this male candidate to be dim-witted and unambitious, but I think I convinced her that my lack of ambition makes up for my intelligence and my education. I think she sees the merits of an educated and sensible man as governor. But I must marry Max. There is no talk of children, nothing like that; we don’t have to live together at all. It’s just for appearances, you know. I would never do it unless -”

It was too much. He hadn’t expected it. He had Thomas again, after ten years, and now he would marry someone else? Just like that?

“I don’t like it, but –”

“I can’t _stand it_.” The force of his own reaction took him by surprise. Why should he care that Thomas married Max? He knew that Max was as interested in men as Thomas was in women, but the very thought of it made him feel yet again that he was taken by the tide, helpless against its will, the world just doing things to him without his consent. Part of him wanted to clutch Thomas to his chest, the other wanted to break the room and demand of the Guthrie woman that she reconsider. Flint could do that. Flint _could_ do that, and it wouldn’t be half as bad as some of the other things he’d done. “I can’t stand the thought of you being married again, not _now_ , not _after all this_.” Fuck, but his voice was breaking. He didn’t notice that he’d sprung to his feet before he swayed like his knees were about to give in underneath him.

Then Thomas was there, warm and strong and tangible in his arms. “Oh, James,” he said in that way he did. “James, my darling, my love, look at me. How beautiful you are. I’m sorry, but it is the only way that we can do this. And we can do this. Listen to me, James. I intend to make Nassau untouchable. I intend to spend years making relationships with every city along the cost of the New World, I intend to build a Navy of my own, I intent to make sure that should England ever come knocking on our door again, we will have allies that will refuse them, and should they be unable we will have a fort and a Navy that can resist them, is this not worth it?”

“And you say you’re not ambitious,” Flint muttered. He didn’t know what to think. “But I can’t bear to hear you call her wife, I can’t bear for you to be with anyone else.”

“I won’t be. I’ll never call her wife and she’ll never call me husband. It’s a paper, James. Words on a paper and they mean nothing. But imagine what they can grant us.”

Before he’d met the Hamiltons he’d thought of marriage as something he would get to eventually, something that would simply happen to him once he’d made his fortune in the war, once he was tired of the life. Miranda had first made him think more seriously about it, then Thomas made him long for it.

Now he wanted the world to look at him and know, from that only, that they were partners, that they belonged to each other, that he loved a man and was loved by him in return. But they took this from him, this deepest form of connection, this _paper_ that proved to the world that their love was real and worthy.

“I spoke with Madam Max privately, after we left Mrs Guthrie. She made it quite clear that we would never be as husband and wife. I assured her that I would be just as happy as she about the arrangement. I uh… I told her about me and you.” Flint looked up at that, uncertainly. His arms had gone slack around Thomas. “And she told me of her… her Anne. I think, well, who better for a woman who loves a woman to marry than a man who loves a man? We have an understanding between us. You know that it must happen James, and you know also how sorry I am that I have to do it.”

He was nodding, more to acknowledge that Thomas had spoken than anything else, because he couldn’t imagine a world where this would never bother him. But what else could he do? Thomas was warm in his arms, Thomas was thrumming with excitement at the future – their future and a slowly unfolding dream for a free Nassau. And Flint would do anything for this man. Anything. Should it be to his own detriment, his own misery, that was a price worth paying.

*

They spent a week in Philadelphia, and Flint didn’t know what Thomas and Max were doing all day, except meeting with Mrs Guthrie and _courting_. He knew they were preparing for the wedding, as well. He caught Thomas fiddling with a small ribbon of blue silk with a considering expression on his face, caught him tucking it away when he noticed Flint’s eyes. They didn’t talk about it, Flint didn’t want to hear anything, elected to live in ignorance to pretend it wasn’t going to happen. Thomas clutched him close at night and they didn’t talk about it, except once.

“Will you be there?” He didn’t want to cause this uncertainty, this discomfort in Thomas, but he was simply unable to pretend that everything was fine, not when Thomas was getting married to a woman.

“Do you want me there?” He truly didn’t know what Thomas wanted. Would he want to look back at Flint as he said his vows? Flint had imagined it, unable to figure out his own feelings about it. Or perhaps he wanted Flint away, to spare him the pain, or to spare himself the reminder of his own blasphemy as he lied before God.

“What I want is to stand there and swear my love to _you,_ James. To swear undying love to you in front of God and men, to marry _you_.” The evasion was obvious. Perhaps Thomas, too, was uncertain of his own mind. In the end, Flint couldn’t do it, couldn’t be there and offer Thomas his support as Thomas went against his own principles.

Anne Bonny slunk aboard the ship while the ceremony was taking place. She clearly had not been told Flint was in the cabin because she burst right inside and stopped dead when she saw him.

“Fuck are you doing here?” Flint wasn’t sure he’d ever heard her voice before.

“Avoiding a wedding.”

She sneered. “He touches her once and he’s dead.”

“I’ll strangle her myself if she ever calls him husband,” Flint growled back at her. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in recovery.”

“We’re leaving once they get back.” Bonny bared her fangs at him before she slunk back out. Flint hadn’t noticed her much before but was unsurprised to find her a person after his own heart. A truce of mutual understanding had formed between them.

*

They were going home to Nassau.

Home.

Nassau.

Thomas had difficulty reconciling the two, but James used the word like it held no importance. Thomas still considered London home, and had never considered what constituted as _home_ to James. Padstow? London? The deck of a ship more likely, but then he said _Nassau_ , and Thomas supposed you couldn’t bleed and kill for a place you didn’t consider home.

“Do you mind if I join you?” Miss Bonny tipped her hat up and glanced at him out of eyes that were still badly swollen. She didn’t reply, only turned back to staring at the sea. He joined her, leaning his arse against the railing so he could watch James on the quarterdeck. “I hear you were one of the pirates, is that true?” There was no doubt about it, of course; she clearly looked the part, she was clearly all too familiar with the knives at her belt. Her scars and her injuries only proved the point further.

“Not anymore,” was all she said in reply. The captain had informed them all that the word ‘pirate’ was not to be used about any of them anymore. They had sniggered and muttered crude comments, but Thomas hadn’t heard the word spoken since, though he had a feeling that the jokes had been trying to hide the disappointment that had rippled through the crew. He heard that same disappointment in Miss Bonny’s tone now.

“No, I suppose not. Did you enjoy it, life as a pirate? I imagine it must be difficult for a woman –”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Sorry. You don’t have to answer, but you intrigue me, the way you could live like this between the men, how they have accepted you.”

“I’m good at it,” she snarled before he could speak further.

“If you were given a choice, wouldn’t you rather live in peace, in society, protected instead of living the dangers of a pirate?” She scoffed and stalked away from the conversation.

“She seems to like you.” Max didn’t wear white. Thomas wondered for a moment if she’d even kept her wedding dress. He’d kept the shirt she’d given him, hidden it away out of James’ sight. He didn’t exactly know why he’d done it, but he’d never expected to marry again, never expected to have the chance. So he’d kept it, as proof perhaps, a token that he’d been granted a second chance at life.

“That is the conclusion you draw from this conversation?”

“Anne is like this. She is trying to get to know you without letting you know who she is. Because of our… arrangement.” James was watching them now, and Thomas assumed he was scowling. He much preferred Max’s smile. He winked at James, though he didn’t know if he could tell form all the way over there.

“I’m no threat to her,” Thomas said, turning away from James’ striking figure to face his wife.

“She knows this. But she also knows that me and her are very different, and that you and I will have something that she and I can never. Not because of words on a page, but because you understand what I say when I talk of politics and the government of Nassau. Her solution is too often the knife, instead of the pen.”

“I can see that.” Max’ smile was warm when she spoke of the woman, her love so clear on her face. Thomas’ heart swelled at the sight, and he smiled back at her.

“Tell me, my lord, how do you know Captain Flint? How can a man such as you ever have gained the influence over him that you have? I have watched him for years, as I have watched all the prominent captains of Nassau, and he has never seemed to me to be someone willing to let another have such power over him.”

“I knew him many years ago, many leagues away. That is all you need to know; I have no intention of dwelling on the past. The future is what we must look to, and we must try to go into it with clear, unbiased minds.”

“But is it not best if I knew exactly the sway you have on each other, considering our relationship, considering how much time we will have to spend with each other in the future? Is it not important that I know the people who are on my council?”

“We will have no sway over each other around that table, I assure you. We’ve always been frank with each other, never refrained from saying exactly what we think of a thing even when we know the other person will not understand, will not listen or agree with it.” Max fixed those considering eyes on him, and he wondered for a moment if she doubted his word. He did not look away from her eyes before he heard James bark some orders at the air, then his heavy steps approached, and Max slipped away.

“You can’t always come and scare away my conversation partners, James.”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to –” Thomas laughed, and threw his arm across James’ shoulders when he’d turned to face outward. He could look at the sea with an easy mind, with James at his side.

“I was teasing you, James. Has it been that long since you’ve been teased?”

“No, I just haven’t gotten used to it yet.”

“Oh, really? Who have been teasing the Most Feared Pyrate Captain Flint?” James shrugged and kept his gaze on the horizon. The muscle in his jaw was twitching, so Thomas caressed it with his fingers.

“Silver and I had a camaraderie of sorts before… well. And even Madi dared the occasional quip in my direction after a while. She is very well read, very clever.”

“I’m excited to get to know her better.” James’ look was all too knowing, so Thomas squeezed him tighter against himself. “James… you and Mr Silver –” He’d thought about the subject since James pinned the man against the wall and got a knife at his throat without flinching. He’d expected it to be a difficult question. He had not expected James to chuckle. The sideways glace was so _McGraw_ Thomas felt his insides clench tightly. “What?”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to ask about this.”

“You’ve been expecting it?”

“I know you, Thomas. It’s been ten years, but you haven’t changed as much as you think you have.” Thomas wanted to chuckle, he really did, but all he could think was _yes, I have_.

“Well?”

“What do you want to know?”

“How close were you?”

“By the end of it the crew were certain we knew each other’s mind as well as our own.”

“And were they right?” James didn’t answer, perhaps he didn’t know, or perhaps he simply didn’t want to admit the truth of it, even to himself. Thomas sighed and looked back at the empty horizon. James was under his arm, pressed against his side, and Thomas didn’t know if he wanted the true answer to the question he was about to ask. But he asked it anyway. “Were you intimate?”

“Are you asking if we fucked? No. For a number of reasons.”

“Would you?”

“If he looked like he does now, and if I didn’t know who he was, perhaps I would. But considering our relationship and our situation, no I would not.”

“What did he look like when you first met him? Has he changed so much?”

“I can’t reconcile the two. No, he looked like he was barely out of his teens, round-faced and clean shaven, with these huge blue eyes. I’ve never seen someone look so innocent and so guilty at the same time.” Perhaps the fondness on James’ face spoke more than his words did, or perhaps Thomas was just confusing melancholy with love. The last few years, the two had become intimately woven together in his mind.

 _Do you love him?_ He wanted to ask, but he couldn’t. James sighed contentedly and pressed himself closer, and Thomas was trembling with the tenderness of it all, the deceptively calm water. He wondered how long they had left before the storm.

“I realised that I’ve had so few true friends in my life. I always thought it would distract me, take too much effort, that I would be forced to spend time with people when I preferred staying in my rooms, reading. But with him – it was so easy. We took our meals together, I taught him how to use a sword, sometimes we spoke and sometimes we didn’t, and it felt so natural. And still I knew, I _knew_ how it would end, because I knew his mind better than my own and still I couldn’t let go.” James looked up at Thomas, so open and searching, though Thomas didn’t know for what. “And now I find myself wondering if perhaps I was letting him do it, fully knowing what it would mean, because I wanted it too, deep down. To just… let go. Not to lose, but simply step away from the fight.”

 _Do you love him?_ Thomas wanted to ask, but he couldn’t.

*

Every day the _Eurydice_ did not appear on the horizon was another day of agony. The delayed return might be a good sign, a sign that the discussions were ongoing, and that Flint’s body was not floating lifeless downriver. But John couldn’t get it out of his head, the cold, callous way Hamilton had said, _you can drown Captain Flint in the harbour in Philadelphia for all I care_.

John busied himself bringing peace to the streets of Nassau, and it worked most of the time. It was fucking chaos when he arrived after offering the treaty to the Maroons; bodies had been rotting in the streets, no one had taken it upon themselves to start cleaning the damage wrought by the Spanish soldiers, and there was absolutely no direction.

His own immediate influence in the place was unnerving to watch as it unfolded before him. Men did as he told them, pyres were made for the bodies with the rubble from ruined buildings and soon enough the infighting had stopped, and everyone bowed to his authority. Apparently, several people had tried to stand up and take command – most of them former captains, but the only results had been mutiny and murder. John couldn’t for the life of him understand how they had the energy to keep going in this way after all they’d been through, but he could only thank his lucky stars that they submitted to his authority.

Now, he was king in his own right, and it amazed him as much as it sickened him. Long John Silver would have been nothing without Captain Flint, and every day that man did not return to these shores deepened the shadows in John’s mind. The itch to run was growing with every passing day, and perhaps he would have, hadn’t Madi been at his side, scornful though she was.

She’d created her own Queendom on the island; she’d brokered peace with the former slaves, and they had occupied the plantations in the interior. Already she was thinking of expanding. The puritan community, or at least what was left of them, stayed in their own homes, and Madi had ordered her people to let them be.

John and Madi were managing the situation together, though most times it felt like they were holding the tentative peace between their people together with both hands. They spent a lot of time in each other’s company, and none at all in privacy. Madi was too much the princess to show him her resentment when they had work to do, but she never lingered, her eyes never softened.

Still, she stood by his side on the pier (half the population of Nassau at their backs) when the first launch approached from the _Eurydice_.

Hamilton stood up in the boat, but Flint jumped onto the pier before him, quick and agile, to offer him his hand. Hamilton took it and climbed a bit perilously out of the boat, then did the same to Max. John saw out of the corner of his eye how Hamilton and Max smiled at each other as their hands slipped, but his attention was on Flint. His eyes were unflinchingly on John, though John couldn’t tell fi it was in challenge or an attempt to intimidate him. It was unnerving.

Hamilton pushed past Flint’s scowl, then he and Max stood before John and Madi. They were a strange pair; Hamilton still wore the clothes they’d found for him aboard the _Lion_ , but Max was dressed lavishly as usual. She was smiling kindly.

“Ah, Mr Silver –” Hamilton started with a wide smile.

“Take us to the mansion,” Flint groused with a sideways glance at the other man.

“The mansion?” Flint strode forward and the throng of people parted for him. John fell into stride beside him purely out of habit. Behind them Max was telling Hamilton about the island and the places they passed.

“He managed to get himself appointed governor,” Flint muttered as they walked. The word was already being whispered in the crowd. _His_ crowd, his people, the people he’d taken command of. Hamilton would reign in the town _he_ was rebuilding from the ashes? He felt suddenly taken with rage.

“So, he just waltzed in there and charmed the old lady out of her jewellery?”

“You could say he’s a hard man not to like,” Flint muttered. John could have hit him. “How was the situation when you arrived?”

“Fucking anarchy. Every shop had been robbed, fighting over who got to sleep in the brothel… I’m not sure there is a bottle of rum left on the island.”

“You turned _that_ into _this_? It seems I’ve underestimated you yet again, Mr Silver.” He might have taken it as praise, hadn’t Flint’s voice been so cold. Strangely, he sounded more like he’d done when John first met him, than the man he’d come to know.

The mansion was already crawling with people making it ready for the new governor, probably at Max’ orders. She went upstairs with Hamilton to take their meal in solitude; even Flint was politely asked to stay behind, though Hamilton had held his hand openly, despite Flint’s obvious discomfort, and looked unwilling to let go. John tried not to watch, especially when he felt Madi’s clever eyes watching him watching them.

“What do you think of this development?” John asked her.

“He is very white.”

“He was a slave you know, for years!” It was only after he’d spoken that he realised Madi had made the comment to gauge his reaction.

“We do not know him well enough yet, though I think I will like him as a person. It remains to be seen how well he does as governor. Come, sit.” He shivered at the light touch of her hand on his elbow, disguising it by shaking himself before he followed her to the table. “You are the king of pirates, John. What we are trying to do here is not something we can do if you decide to oppose it.”

“Why would I? You and I want the same thing –”

“Do you?” Flint had joined them, was towering over them for a moment before he sat down at their table. “We could have started it by now, we could have assembled them all in a fleet of pirates and maroons unmatched by any in history, we could have –”

“We could have been at war, this year and the next… ten years from now, if we were truly unlucky enough to have survived that long. And for what? We wouldn’t have freed the New World, or the slaves, or the pirates, we would have walked them to their deaths. England would never give up the New World, they simply would not allow it to happen. You know that. I know you know that.”

“England is not inevitable. It’s what they want you to believe; that they’re too big to fight, too powerful, but it’s an illusion.”

“I want freedom,” John growled, because he was so fucking sick of Flint talking at him like this, treating him like any other of the men who he could manipulate with his speeches. “I want to illuminate the fucking darkness, not to drown in it! I want freedom for you, _both of you_ , and I can’t do that if you’re _dead_.”

“We don’t want the same thing. I want this for all my people, and I will sacrifice everything for them. You want to appease us, but you are not willing to –”

“To make martyrs of you? What the fuck do you think would happen if you died? This revolution would die in its fucking cradle, the two of you are the driving forces and without you there is no one strong enough to keep the flame burning. This way you get to live, and you get to work ceaselessly toward the goal you seek. That is what I want and I will make sure the two of you are able to do that, no matter what you might think of me because of it.”

Neither of them deigned to answer him, but he supposed the outward anger was better than the discomfort of unspoken words. At least they were still sitting there with him.

They hadn’t sat long in silence before Max and Hamilton appeared at the top of the stairs arm in arm, inviting their council to join them upstairs for the first meeting about the future of Nassau.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it's been long guys, I've been kind of out of it lately and had to rewrite this a couple of times and still I'm not entirely pleased with it...
> 
> Anyway I hope I find you well and as usual I'd like to hear your thoughts on this <3
> 
> Stay safe xx


	5. Guiding light

“We have an opportunity here, unlike anything any of us have seen before, an opportunity to make something of this place,” Thomas said to his council – to his wife’s council. “We have the opportunity to build something strong enough to weather the challenges of the future and to pass the test of time, it only requires for us all to make a choice. We must choose to trust each other because without that there is no hope for an independent future here. I understand you have reason to distrust each other, past betrayals that are not so easily forgotten, but from this day there must be no history in Nassau. All we have is the sand, and the water, and the means of our survival; the one thing in which we are all invested.” They were a singularly difficult crowd to judge, but Thomas had been an orator before most of them were born, so he trudged on, taking courage from James’ presence.

“As I see it, there are only two possible outcomes. If we trust each other enough to stand together in difficult times we can take this chance to make something of this place that will last for decades. If not, England will return to this island and burn everything, and she will feel justified in doing so, because that is what England does.

“I am new in this place, and I know the history this island has with new governors, but I have reason to believe that I will not suffer the fate of my predecessors. I have no intention of enforcing a military and punitive regime here, I have no intention of bringing English law here. Fuck England. This is our island; we will make it look exactly as we want it to. Make no mistake, I might have been born in England, but I am an Englishman no longer, and neither are you. We are the people of New Providence Island, and we will decorate our home to our own satisfaction.”

Thomas sat down in his chair beside Max, who smiled at him encouragingly, as the rest of the room shared meaningful glances between them, though no one said anything. With less than ten people in the room, everyone would hear.

“The piracy in this place must end,” Max said. “And without that there is a need for something else to sustain us all. The plantations in the interior will be the future of Nassau, under Madam Madi’s supervision. Let it be clear that there will be no slavery on this island in the future, not now, not ever. The former pirates will ship the produce. Between Mr Fraiser’s contacts and Mrs Guthrie’s blessing, we will be able to sell our harvest in ports that have formerly been closed to us.”

Captain Rackham cleared his throat, saying: “There is only one small problem… we only have two ships left and they’re not exactly big ones. We need at least a few more, larger vessels, and even then there will be discontented pirates on the beach without a job. I don’t imagine they will take lightly to the news.”

“We need to… acquire new ships.”

“ _How_?”

“The last efforts of a dying beast, I imagine,” James groused, eyes flicking to Thomas. “As… _Admiral Barlow_ , I’ll oversee the operations. We need to be far from here when we take those ships and we need to sail under false colours. No one can know that it was the pirates of Nassau who did it. Moreover, we need to spread the rumour of Captain Flint’s death, marking the end of piracy in this place.” A pregnant silence followed the statement.

“I see.”

“As for the rest of the former pirates, I imagine there are many who will be happy to leave the sea behind and man the fort instead,” continued Max. “With the restorations and the rebuilding of Nassau, I’m sure there will be enough to do for everyone. If not, I’m sure Madam Madi would welcome more farmers to the interior.”

“And what exactly is my part in all of this?” John Silver wanted to know.

“I thought that was obvious,” Thomas said, a bit startled at the question. “You will be where you’ve always been, Mr Silver. At James’ side.”

“I see,” he said, and Thomas wasn’t sure that he saw at all.

*

“It would help my case if you didn’t walk around armed to the teeth and looking like you could overthrow the government, James,” Thomas told him fondly once the rest of the council had left.

James snorted as he closed the door behind himself. Max had slumped gracelessly into the chair behind the desk, tired from their meeting. “Walk around unarmed in this place after everything I’ve done, with _you_ in tow; someone who is clearly important to me? Not a chance.” Thomas kissed the stubborn frown off his face and began peeling the aforementioned weapons from his figure awkwardly. He’d never handled a pistol before.

“I don’t see how your relationship could in any way hurt your reputation among the men,” Max muttered, though she didn’t sound particularly invested in the conversation. “Who knows, perhaps showing that you are capable of care for another human being will bring men scrambling to your door to gain your respect. It is funny how men react to authority figures they fear and admire at the same time.”

Thomas scoffed, fingers playing with the scarf James had tied around his head to hide the ridiculous state of his hair. “Let’s not hope too many young, attractive men come knocking at his door just yet. I’ll not tire of him for a while.”

Oddly enough, that seemed to make James more uncomfortable in front of Max than the kisses. Thomas continued to marvel at this conundrum before him but figured he would never be able to know all of him. James’ shoulders squared minutely, then he leaned in and pressed his forehead to Thomas’ jaw, pulling him in half an embrace and glaring at Max, like it was her fault they were in her office.

“Admiral Barlow, you and I are not enemies anymore, why would I want to use this affection against you? The more I know of Mr Hamilton’s character, the more I can move past the ideas I have had of yours, which would otherwise work directly against this _trust_ we need between us. And think of it like this, could a woman like me, knowing what you know of me, truly hurt a man like you, knowing of you what I do?” Her eyes were burning with passion that made Thomas feel oddly giddy as he brushed his fingers over James’ back. “I would never be able to use this affection, this _love_ against you. And seeing it displayed openly now, I promise you that I never will.”

James simply nodded at her with that look that seemed etched into his face, part mistrust, part warning. It slipped when he looked to Thomas, replaced by a look that clearly said ‘fine, but just because you look like that’, and truly, Thomas was fine with that.

“I think that went well. I can see that these people are reasonable; probably more reasonable than the Lords of Parliament. At least easier to speak with openly.”

“Yes. It helps that for now we seek the same thing.”

James sat down on Thomas’ desk, stroking his beard and looking deep in thought. Thomas was growing more and more fond of that look on him. “I was surprised that you asked Featherstone to be in charge of the fort,” he said.

“It appears I wasn’t clear when I asked you to join us, my dear. You and I will discuss these matters at length this evening, but right now I need to speak with the governess, and I need her thoughts – and mine for that matter – to be unaltered by any comments from you. Consider yourself an ornament, here to brighten my day. Read a book, it might do you good.” Thomas smiled, almost laughed at the affronted look on James' face.

“What way is that to speak to the most notorious captain on this island?” James rumbled from the depth of his chest. Thomas shivered as James bent over the desk and put his face threateningly close to his. Thomas kissed his nose and swatted him away, pushing down the instinct to pull him closer.

“God help me,” Max muttered from her chair, then seemed to collect herself as James slid off the desk and started roaming the room in search of an acceptable book. “Right now, Rackham, Featherstone and your man Silver will be on the beach to tell our people about the future of this place. Some men will be happy to man the fort, and the rest will be itching to go hunting again, but they will all ask themselves what they can gain from this. We have a few days, at most, before they will start asking those questions more loudly. By then the ships must be at sea, or someone might be able to sow the seed of mistrust and we will have a riot on our hands.”

“Not with Long John Silver down there,” James muttered without looking up from his book.

“James, I said –”

“You have such faith in him? After what he did to you?” James shrugged, looking pointedly at Thomas before returning his gaze to his book. Thomas caught Max’ eyes and rolled his own. She almost giggled, and by God it made Thomas feel warm inside.

“It doesn’t matter, they must be at sea within the week, and we must have found fitting captains for the new ships.”

“Yes, I agree. The most important thing for now is to restore trade with the rest of the colonies, and we must appear lawful from the start. When we have those ships, nothing but legal goods will be shipped off this island, and the revenue we gain from those goods must be enough to sustain us. There is no other way, this is our last chance.”

“I understand that, but I do not see how that can be enough to sustain the entire island, especially if we are to pay the workers on the plantations, and _that_ , mon chère, is not negotiable.”

“I am as invested in that outcome as you are, Madam, believe me.”

“Then tell me how we can earn enough from those revenues to pay every person on this island. Tell me how you intend to make this island survive on honest trade when it has resisted that for decades.”

“I believe –” there was an exasperated sigh from James’ corner of the room, which Thomas promptly ignored, “– that the plantations produce enough revenue to pay everyone if we redistribute the wealth. If we, as the government, own the plantations and instead of building our own fortune, we pay tolerable wages to everyone.”

“Will not the business suffer? If we do not have money to make large investments –”

“There is a cache of formerly Spanish gold buried on this island. If we use of that cache in moderate amounts, no one will be the wiser and it will sustain us until Madi can expand the business.”

“I do not see how this will be enough.”

“We might not be rich,” Thomas admitted, “but I have a vested interest in the _people_ of this island, not the business.”

“Is not the business important for the people?”

“To an extent, but when that business requires people to do more than they can, when it enslaves people, we are doing something wrong. We do not need wealth to be happy, we need good conditions and a society that accepts us, cares for us, includes us. All the money in the world won’t help anyone who is friendless and alone. Do you think we can do this?”

Max sighed, but the way she looked at him, Thomas was beginning to believe that she liked him as much as he liked her. “I believe if anyone can see it done, it is us.”

*

They were alone in the Mansion, everyone else returned their own homes, their own lives. Lives which Thomas knew nothing at all about. Where did Max spend her nights? Did Jack Rackham return to the ship? Did John Silver have to struggle across the beach to a filthy tent to sleep on the sand?

These thoughts had been languidly flitting through his mind as he stood in the open window, watching Nassau in the darkness of the night. Some buildings were illuminated, but most were graced only by the light from the sliver of a moon in the sky. James had stopped somewhere behind him, apparently sensed something in him that made him hold back. Thomas didn’t know if he was more sad or thankful.

He was in an odd mood, feeling half-graced by the moonlight, half feared in Flint’s presence, feeling both very alive and strangely insubstantial at the same time.

“I’m beginning to think the methods in Bedlam don’t work; you’re madder that I remember.”

“Hardly. I’m as sane as ever.”

“What you’re suggesting will never be accepted on the street.”

“They won’t accept a council that cleans up the streets, restores the ruined buildings, builds schools for the children and offers medical treatment without asking for recompense? Isn’t that how it is on your ships, where injury payment comes out of everyone’s pockets, because they might be the next man in need of it? Why will it be so different on land?”

“You don’t know these men, Thomas.”

“No, but I know you, and I know you would consider such a world a utopia. Why, do you consider yourself so far above them? Do you… do you consider yourself so much more educated, lieutenant, than the rest of them?” Thomas turned from the moon and levelled his gaze at James, who looked appropriately disgruntled, though there was that hint of disbelieving amusement in the crease between his eyes that was always there when he told Thomas he wasn’t funny, while choking down laughter.

“Give me a chance, James. Trust me blindly, follow me in this, let me light the way for you.”

James grimaced but joined him in the window, sighing as the wind blew through his short hair. The distance between them remained, now that they were alone and in darkness.

Thomas had thought of darkness as a way to escape the confines of society, a place where dangerous love may breathe freely. He’d had James for the first time in darkness, because James had still been afraid despite his courage.

Now, the darkness held other things, shadows deeper than the shame James had felt more than ten years ago. New shapes that Thomas didn’t recognise, that his light might not reach. It was growing between them, the undeniable fact of Flint’s presence. Here, in Nassau, he would always be there.

“We could have gone anywhere,” James muttered. “Anywhere in the New World, made a life for ourselves away from this.” _This_ , this thing they couldn’t speak of, this thing that James had become and that shamed him so. Or perhaps it was the memories of his pain, of Miranda and all the things he’d done that he _did_ regret. Thomas knew he didn’t regret it all.

Thomas hated it, being caught between yearning and fear, between love and _this_. He wanted to reach out and grasp James Flint’s hand with a white-knuckled grip that spoke more than all the words from his mouth could ever do, but in the same thought he wondered if this want, if this surety that he would never leave James behind, if that wasn’t at long last losing a part of himself that he’d clung through during the long, cold winters in the hospital, that he’d kept clinging to during the endless summer in Savannah.

But then he reached for James’ hand, he _did_. He laced their fingers together and let go of his fears, _his shame_. For ten years he’d been so afraid of losing the man he’d been, he’d never thought about creating the man he could _become_. For all that he’d talked about the future in Nassau and forgetting past sins, he hadn’t let himself be included in that absolution, and not James, either.

“We’re a blank canvass, James. Whether we’re here or in Boston. We have the opportunity to remake ourselves here, to figure out what kind of men we want to be. How many have the strength or the opportunity to do that at our age? Let’s start again, in Nassau and for ourselves. Let’s chose the colours and draw the lines and become the men we want to be.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Isn’t it? Isn’t that exactly what you did when you first came to this place?”

“And what if we don’t like what we see? What if you can’t accept the man I am? You say let’s start again, but here we are – together. How is that a blank canvass?”

Thomas looked away, slackened his fingers and pulled them from Flint’s grip. He leaned against the window frame, feeling suddenly tired. James huffed and turned back into the dark room.

“I don’t understand why you try to push me away. Don’t think I can’t tell.”

“I’m not trying to push you away, I’m raising a legitimate concern!”

“There’s no reason to get angry.”

“I’m not angry!” It was Thomas’ turn to huff this time because James’ voice certainly sounded angry. James turned to him, closer now that they’d been before, and his eyes were flickering with fire. “I’m not angry, I’m fucking –” He growled, and looked away. His fingers were tight fists at his sides. “I’m fucking terrified,” he breathed.

“I won’t leave you, James. I could never.” But James was only shaking his head, muscle in his jaw twitching.

“So you’ll stay, no matter what. And I’ll have to watch as you begin to resent me for the way I’ve bound you to me simply because I’m too pathetic to function without you. Because you’re too noble to leave when you know what I’ve done in the past.”

“Don’t,” Thomas growled, and his voice was shaking with anger, “James McGraw, do not do me that kind of disservice. To think that I would stay with you despite myself, out of – of _pity_ or, or a feeling of responsibility for actions that were purely your own? If that is what you think you do not know me at all.” James bared his teeth, but a tear dropped from his eye that he hastily brushed away with the back of his hand.

“I ruin everything,” James whispered. “Everything I touch, everything I do – I. I’m sorry.” He covered his face with his hand, fingers pressing along his brows to hide his eyes. He strode away.

“You think too highly of yourself, Captain Flint, if you take responsibility for everything that’s gone wrong in this war, for everything that’s gone wrong since London. John Silver might look at you with that kind of fearful reverence most people feel when they speak to God, but I know you better than that. And I am too strong for you to ruin, even if you wanted to.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” James moaned.

“I already told you. Follow me as I light the way for you – for us both. You and I, James, together we will figure it out, I have no doubt about that. And I will not let your self-loathing come between us.”

*

Thomas proposed his plan to the council the next morning and they spent the rest of the day trying to talk him out of it, but Max was on his side. Even James grudgingly started talking in his defence. Thomas remembered how James had once stood up and proclaimed his faith in Thomas to a man that could surely ruin him, for a plan he had not believed possible. Some of that instinct was bleeding through, but James was a different man these days. Thomas didn’t mind, he would learn everything about this new man, more jaded than young Mr McGaw but not less interesting, not more difficult to love. But perhaps that said more about Thomas than James.

They were drawing toward the end of the meeting when John Silver finally opened his mouth for anything beyond a mumbled comment.

“There is only one problem I see in all of this,” John Silver said, and the room quieted immediately at the low quality of his voice, the deceptively kind tone. He rose, chair scraping against the floorboards uncomfortably. “I don’t trust him.” Thomas thought for a moment he meant him, but then his eyes flicked to James. “I don’t trust him to trust me,” he was rounding the table slowly, “I don’t trust him to be reasonable if this endeavour fails, I don’t trust him not to turn this into a freedom-fight, and a war is not an end that I will accept for this place.”

“Mr Silver, I’m sure the Admiral understand the importance of trust. What I don’t understand is why you doubt his intentions. Was it not you who retrieved me in Savannah for the single purpose of turning him from the war?”

“You know my intent, and it was never to see you installed as Governor in this place. Can you say without a doubt, that he will not go to _any_ lengths to see you achieve this goal, this Utopia that you seem so sure you can create? Considering your history, considering everything he’s done –”

“Enough,” James growled.

“I will agree to nothing until there is trust between you and I,” Mr Silver said, and now he was standing somewhere behind Thomas’ shoulder, eyes steady on James across the table. There was no sign of that boyish look on him now, only the weariness and mistrust of an old soul.

Thomas stood up to face him, ignoring James’ sigh behind him. “I can safely say, Mr Silver, that James will not go against my wishes in such a way. Has it not already been made clear that I want a war even less than you do? I’m force to wonder why –”

“Thomas,” James tried, but Thomas ignored him again.

“I’m force to wonder why you chose to address this subject during the council meeting. Had you any issues with James you might have gone to him directly, instead of – what? trying to plant the seed of mistrust in our minds? No, you go too far, sir, in targeting my husband in that way.”

Mr Silver bared his teeth in a mocking grin, stepping forward. Despite his height, Thomas felt like the man was looking down on him.

“Enough! Both of you!” James growled. He stood up, but Mr Silver didn’t look away from Thomas’ eyes. James brushed past them toward the staircase, then turned back to look at them. “Silver,” he said, jerking his head for him to follow.

“Where are you going?” Thomas asked, finally looking at him. James’ face was pinched in awkwardness and exasperation. He grimaced at the question, eyes flicking quickly around the room. He drummed his fingers on the railing.

“I’ll be back before nightfall,” he said gruffly, before walking downstairs. Mr Silver didn’t follow him right away, he was still looking at Thomas with an expression that Thomas couldn’t decipher at all, calculating, maybe, or judging. He got the distinct feeling that Mr Silver had something against him, and he couldn’t for the life of him understand what it was.

When he turned to follow James, Thomas grabbed his elbow, though he almost shrunk from the fearsome look in his eyes when he did. He gathered his courage despite of it and spoke. “Truth, Mr Silver, however uncomfortable, is the way to resolving this. See if you can find it in yourself to speak it.” He turned away before Mr Silver could reply, leaning heavily on the table. He was smiling, only slightly, and trying not to laugh at the various expressions around the table. Mr Rackham especially looked comical. Madam Idelle was only raising her eyebrows at her husband, grinning victoriously.

“Are they always like this?” Thomas wondered.

“More or less, yes,” Madi said, though she, too, was smiling fondly. “Shall we go on? I feel this development might benefit the fruitfulness of our meeting.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idiots, the lot of them!
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it :) Kudos and comments are ❤︎ ❤︎ and keep me going.


	6. A nation of thieves

Once they left the meeting at the tavern Silver fell into step behind him in a way that felt almost uncomfortably familiar. More familiar than Thomas’ presence at his side or Thomas’ lips on his or his hands in his hair. Flint gritted his teeth and continued toward the beach in silence.

Both the ships were currently beached for repairs, but the men who reported on the progress were optimistic that they would be back on the water in three days – four at most. The rest of the men were making ready for departure and were equally optimistic and Flint startled at the realisation that they were proud to report good tidings to him. There was that undercurrent of uncertainty in their eyes that had always been there but the fear, the tiredness, the exhaustion that came with the war seemed to have completely evaporated. For a moment Flint wondered what Silver had told them yesterday to warrant this strange eagerness.

He grew more wary after that, chose his compliments with more care. Max’s words rang in his head, echoing too closely to what Silver had said of himself about fear and respect.

All the while, Silver had taken a more passive role than he’d gotten used to lately, watching Flint with the men and bearing an expression that clearly said ‘I know what you’re doing’, as well as ‘are you really doing this?’. Flint was unsurprised to watch the man fall into old patterns as easily as he seemed to do everything from walking with the crutch to betraying his closest friends.

They walked on, along the beach though not on it, for Silver’s benefit, and they didn’t talk. Flint thought he could hear Silver’s mind working, and he certainly felt the heat of his anger at the back of his neck, but he kept walking. Far along the beach, away from curious ears until they reached a bend in the coastline to hide them from view.

Flint stopped there, debated for a moment whether he should sit down, but thought he would probably just get up again when the argument began. There was too much unsaid, too much anger, resentment, and confused feeling for this to start out in a civilised manner.

It was tentative at first, neither wanting to be the first to lose their head. Then accusations were being thrown and before long they were screaming at each other in a way they never had before. Screaming truths in each other’s faces without pretence or restraint, laying bare the pain, the hurt, the sentiment – because it was alright, because they were growling and they were angry and at one point Flint was sure he would strangle Silver long before they reached a stalemate. It had no purpose, this argument, beyond making them feel good. Everything had been said before, every argument made and remade, but it _felt so good_ to release the anger and frustration and confusion, to let Silver see what he’d done, to spit it in his face.

But what he saw on Silver’s face was more than that. There was frustration, resentment, disappointment, all clear on his face. What Flint had failed to see before was that all those emotions were directed at Silver himself. The more Flint saw of him, the more he was convinced that Silver’s true regret lay in having done what he did. And that some part of him despised himself for it.

It was Silver who ended the screaming at last, and when he did, he looked old and ragged.

“You told me once that I was nothing without the crew.” Flint remembered it, vaguely, the malice in his tone and the look on Silver’s face when he did. He was breathing harshly now, finally silent with the intent to listen. “I was so angry when Hamilton told us to forget everything, to deny the history of this place. Without that history I wouldn’t be here, without it – I found myself in a rather peculiar situation. In which I realised that this history, _our history_ in this place, is not without relevance. _Our_ history is the wrist from whence the blow comes.” Silver sighed, looking out at the horizon. A different horizon, but Flint felt he could almost see it, almost peer out of the corner of his eye and see Silver like he had that day on the hill.

“It’s not true anymore. Long John Silver will always exist, he’s become more than a man and his name might echo across the centuries, with or without the crew. He needs no one now. But _me_ – I need you. I’m nothing without you.” He glanced away from Silver’s whispered earnestness. It had been easier when they’d screamed at each other. He hadn’t been able to hear the vulnerability in his voice. “I can’t be the man I want to be without you. And it doesn’t matter if I wake up in the morning and find my existence meaningless to everyone else, as long as you, and her, are alive.”

“Silver –”

“My name is _John_. You called me by it once before. There is no reason for you to avoid it now, not after everything that’s happened.”

“ _John_ , listen to me. If you don’t live for _yourself_ , if you only live to – to please her, or to find meaning in _me_ , that’s not a life. I don’t know your past, but I _know_ this, I have _lived_ like that, and it will never be enough.”

“You misunderstand. I have come to appreciate something about myself I never thought I would. I fell in love with Madi and it opened possibilities for me that I’d never contemplated before, but my relationship with you started before that. I didn’t realise what it was, or the potential of it. I have the highest respect for you. I admire you, I know you, your faults and your weaknesses and you drive me mad, but through all of this, you have my genuine friendship. That is the man I want to be. I want – I want a wife, children who can grow in a safe world, a world without war or tyrants, I want to sit by the shore and talk with you, I want to listen as you discuss philosophy with Madi because you’re both alive. I… I have never had the opportunity to cultivate a friendship before, or to picture these things. I’ve had no reason to believe that a person might still be in my life in a month, or a year. And I ache for it.”

He didn’t know what to say or do in the face of such an admission, in the face of this picture this man, _this man_ , had painted. How he wanted it, how he _longed_ for it. Yet it felt even more fantastical than winning a war against civilization. James wanted to embrace him, but he couldn’t.

“We were doing this for them,” he murmured. “For Madi’s children so that they would never fear being sold. We did this for people like _me_ , so we would never fear the noose because of love.” John hobbled the final step that put them right in front of each other and grabbed James’ arm with all the strength of his conviction.

“And we will. But we will do it _here_ , and we will start with small steps, to make sure that the foundation on which we build this freedom is stronger than even the British empire, and our ideas will spread, and step by step, brick by brick we will prosper. But we can’t forget what is really important in this life. It’s the people who live _today_. We would kill them all with a war, James.”

“You never cared about those people.” John huffed.

“It doesn’t matter if I care about them or not, it’s _true_.” James grabbed John’s shoulder and clutched him tight. Again, he wished he could embrace him, if only to hide his face from keen eyes.

“Sit with me.” They sat down on their coats in the sand and discussed their part in the future of Nassau until the sun began its descent into the sea.

The walk back to Nassau was more amiable that the one before, but James stopped him before they parted ways. “It’s your last chance.” John nodded, because he knew.

There was food waiting for him when he returned to the mansion. He was too tired to go looking for Thomas, so he sat down with the one lit candle and ate the cold meal in solitude.

“Have you come to an understanding?”

“ _Oh, fuck_ , I didn’t hear you.” Thomas was standing in the doorway, white shirt and breeches made him look half a ghost. James was almost afraid to stretch his arm out toward him in case he should prove to be one. But Thomas was solid beneath his fingertips and heavy on his lap where he perched himself. “We have. There is no need to worry about him.”

“You’re sure?” James nodded. “I’ll trust you to know if you can trust him, despite your shared past.” He held the plate in place as James skewed the next piece of food with his dagger. His other hand was around Thomas’ body, caressing the small of his back.

“Can we do this, you and I?” James asked, surprising himself with the earnest hope in his own voice.

“You and I, James, can do anything. And this time we’ll have help.”

James tried to stand up and carry Thomas to the bed, but he was too heavy. “You’ve grown old, James! Old and weak.”

“It’s not about my strength, it’s about _yours_!” For all their laughing and eagerness there was a trace of underlying desperation, of tension, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap and bring the world back to how it was supposed to be, to bring them back to reality.

The candle in the bedchamber flickered when they brushed in, almost guttering out, but as Thomas’ fingers gentled James’ sides as they slipped into bed, the flame settled, burning through the night.

*

John returned to the sea, leaving Flint behind in Nassau. The irony wasn’t lost on him. One of them had to go; Rackham couldn’t be seen as the only proper captain left, neither of them would let that happen, but Flint was supposed to be dead. So, here he was, back on the fucking water. He didn’t like the idea of returning to the sea without Flint. Their debt to the depths might prove too great for one of them to withstand alone.

But it couldn’t be helped.

The _Eurydice_ and the _Lion_ sailed together, far from the usual hunting ground to throw suspicion off the Nassau pirates. Every pirate who hadn’t been needed at the fort or the plantations had come along, to man the new ships as they caught them.

After the havoc they’d been wrecking with the war, it wasn’t hard to seize the prizes with barely any damage to the ships themselves, but what came after was worse. Though he was by all accounts a hardened pirate by now, John was sickened by it. He looked at Rackham’s face and saw that he was, too. Every man who refused to join them would be shot; his body dropped over the railing and into the sea. This was long after the entire crew had surrendered, expecting leniency. All the men were lined up along the gunwale, some took the offer and others didn’t, and when the shots rang John had to watch as limp bodies stumbled into the sea.

The problem was that there could be no tales of this, no rumours about who did the capturing. Hopefully, the owners would assume they were shipwrecked, going down with man and mouse. The ships would be refashioned and repainted in Nassau to throw off suspicion.

Flint and Hamilton had fought bitterly about this course of action in the council meetings, to the point where everyone else in the room could barely stand to watch them.

 _“Impossible?” Hamilton had sneered. “Of all the things you have done, all the mad schemes –_ this _is impossible? Come up with something else, Admiral.”_

 _“I’ve tried!” Flint had growled, and John had looked away, because his tone was laced with pain. “I’ve spent every waking moment trying to figure out a better way to do it, but there is none. No one will sell ships to the pirates of Nassau, and if_ anyone _get wind of this, we’re all dead.” Flint had gripped the back of his chair so hard the wood groaned under his fingers. “If you can’t do this, there is nothing for you here. This is what Nassau does, Thomas, it corrupts everything. If you can’t do this, we’ll get a skiff and we’ll leave, right now. But if you argue this because you think that this course of action sits lightly with any of us, then I wonder what kind of people you think we are. Perhaps you’ve changed your mind. Perhaps you don’t think the pirates of Nassau deserve your forgiveness,_ My Lord _.”_

John could only imagine how many times they had had that exact argument privately, but Hamilton gave in. Perhaps it was because of the bitterness in Flint’s voice when he used his titles. John heard Flint’s underlying resentment, not of Hamilton but of a society where birth decided someone’s worth. He could only imagine the scorn and the mocking Flint must’ve survived in the Navy from his fellow officers.

Now, John was convinced that Hamilton’s disgust was not a small part of why Rackham looked as sickened in that moment, when the pistols fired and the bodies stumbled, dead over the railing. He felt as if Hamilton was watching him, condemning him. And if that wasn’t the last thing he needed in this moment – the reminder of how quickly everyone had fallen under his influence, how quickly everyone had wanted to prove their worth to him – how quickly they’d come to yearn for his forgiveness. John, sickened, turned away from the scene.

As it was, John might be on a ship leagues from the shore, but his mind was still pondering the newest developments on New Providence Island.

He tried many times to figure out exactly when he became truly entangled in that island’s history. When had he passed the point of no return? When had he fallen off the wrong side of the knife’s edge? He could still run, get away, leave that place permanently. Physically, it was a possibility. But it had been a long time since he could entertain that idea and consider it an actual possibility. His history was being written here, with these people on these ships and these islands, whether he’d wanted to be part of the narrative or not.

Long John Silver continued living the lie, now as Captain in his own right and not Flint’s, who would never be a captain again, though John doubted he would be able to stay away from the sea for long. Perhaps he would steal a small ship for himself and Hamilton where they could spend their retirement.

He was one of the first to return to Nassau, and still he’d been away for almost two weeks. He didn’t like it, being away for so long at the beginning of this new era, but it hadn’t been his choice. Perhaps he’d come back to people who’d missed him, perhaps it was a good thing. John doubted it.

He’d managed to keep Madi from his mind until the return voyage. Thinking of Flint and Hamilton wasn’t enjoyable; there was still too much guilt, too much ugly hope, but it was better than thinking of Madi and the unaffected way she’d taken to interacting with him. Like what they’d had meant nothing to her anymore, like he was just another person on that council. It had to be pretend – of course it had. What they had shared had been too profound, too meaningful not to leave a mark. He had felt love, true love and understanding that had always eluded him. She must have felt some part of it too.

But perhaps she didn’t value it in the way he did. She’d had a loving mother, aunts and uncles who cared for her, an entire village who played with her, respected her and loved her. He was just another love in a long line of them. He couldn’t say it; he _would not_ look in Madi’s face and tell her that she was privileged, but in this – _fuck_ , he’d been so alone for so long, and in this he felt that she was.

He felt unmade by it, drifting in his own desperation, and Madi – Flint, they didn’t even realise how precious it was, how fucking rare it was. Nothing in his life had ever felt as important, as real as this; nothing could compare with true kinship, nothing in the world was worth anything compared to it. John would give up a war, a treasure, his livelihood – he would give up everything if he could only feel loved, if he could only love.

No one were waiting on the beach for him when he returned to Nassau with the newly captured _Orca_ , but he hadn’t expected it either. He had Hands take care of the new recruits, some of which would join the Maroons inland, and the others would be sent to the fort, all before Hamilton had the chance to ask about them.

Things were different in Nassau. The remaining pirates were still camped on the beach, but during the day they were drilling with swords or pistols or cannons, restoring, tearing down or raising buildings, clearing, repairing or laying roads. They were rebuilding the town, in short, and there was a new, buzzing energy where for a moment everyone was still doing what they’d been told to do without complaint, and no one had yet to raise their voice against the tyranny. It was a fucking miracle.

He found the reason for it all in the marketplace where Hamilton was debating with the butcher over the price of a few pigs he wanted sent down to the beach that evening. The lower Hamilton managed to get the price, the wider the butcher smiled, and in the end, when Hamilton looked properly smug about himself, he paid the full price after all and they had a good laugh together. Hamilton went on and everyone who passed him tipped their hat at him. He smiled all around like he couldn’t imagine anything better than to be there, with those people.

John tried to walk past him when he was talking to one of the other merchants without being seen, but Hamilton turned and smiled his wide smile at him too. John wondered when Hamilton had cultivated the habit of always being fully aware of his surroundings like a prey animal, in bedlam or Savannah.

“Mr Silver, how good to see you back in one piece!” He didn’t know if the man was daft, mean, or simply inconsiderate, but he always seemed to come with some comment that John desperately wanted to take as an insult. “You have perfect timing; I was just making arrangements for a gathering on the beach this evening, we were hoping you would join us. Things are going so well, and the pirates have been so accommodating we thought we all deserve an evening of fun.”

Hamilton looked back to the merchant and John tried to slip away, but the man grabbed his elbow, gave him a _look_ that John didn’t like at all, then paid for the rum. “Please, Mr silver, walk with me.

“I’m sure it would please you to hear that Madi is doing very well with her plantations. Her people are hard workers, and with the prospect of making something for themselves in this place, more people have come from the Maroon Island to join our venture. When we have the means to expand, Madi will build plantations on the islands that are not currently self-sufficient, and when that becomes reality I will almost go so far as to call our futures safe.”

John nodded, then because Hamilton stopped in the middle of the street to look at him, he said; “Good.” Hamilton smiled, a bit sardonically, then pulled him by the elbow to the side of the street.

“Have I offended you in any way?”

“I’m sorry?”

“I sometimes feel that you don’t like me, Mr Silver, and if that’s the case, I would like to remedy it. If I have said or done something that is offensive to you, believe me when I say that it was not meant that way.”

There was nothing John could say to discourage the claim. Hamilton _hadn’t_ done or said anything to offend him, yet he _did not_ like him. And he didn’t know why. It was his own problem, he should be able to deal with it, to hide it at least, because Hamilton didn’t deserve it, but the mere fact of it unsettled him.

“See, I spoke with James about this, and he assured me that I hadn’t done anything to warrant your anger, and that indeed there was no anger from you towards me. And then he looked oddly like what you look like right now, Mr Silver, so I see that I will have no more answer from you than from him.” He couldn’t tell if Hamilton was annoyed or slightly amused at that.

“We both care for him, Mr Silver, and in his own way he cares for you, too. If he didn’t you wouldn’t still be alive. I don’t know whether it’s jealousy or simply insecurity that sparks this resentment towards me, or perhaps it’s something else entirely. All I know is that for the two of us to be jealous of each other because of our connection to him is idiocy. My presence in his life will in no way damage the bond between you unless we let it. In time, you might even come to appreciate my being here. We are the only two people left in the world who care about him, Mr Silver. Let’s not kill each other just yet.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” John said, because it was true, because he had no idea what else to say in a situation like this. He was not used to people being this painfully frank with him.

“Oh, and I do hope you’re coming to our gathering on the beach this evening. I’m sure Madi and James would appreciate it.” With that terrifying statement, Hamilton left him with a polite goodbye, and John was left wondering why he went this way in the first place.

He pondered Hamilton’s words on his way to the tavern, and through a few mugs of ale. Was it jealousy? Could it be something as basic as that? If it was, he had only himself to blame. Perhaps he’d thought himself ready to see the back of Flint’s head for the last time, but now with no war to fight, to pressure them, to take up all their time, perhaps he wanted to find back to that connection that had grown between them that seemed only to breathe and strengthen in the darkness, in the blackest pits of agony in their hearts. And now, with Hamilton here, he could never fully meet Flint in that place again.

But the very idea of missing something about that time made him feel ill. Could he truly be so damaged by it as to need it? He’d never dreamt, never had nightmares when they’d been in the middle of it. These days he woke up nightly with sweat pooling on his chest and death on the inside of his eyelids.

No, he didn’t miss it; he was haunted by it, tortured by it. Hamilton’s light, his smile despite the blackness of the world he lived in, his hope and the way he seemed to make everyone around him feel at ease, was a wonder to behold. Perhaps the problem was that he shone too bright, and John, unaccustomed to such optimism, to so much love and happiness, was blinded by it.

He was almost falling asleep, drowsy from the drink, in his corner when the shadows deepened outside as the sun started to set. He shook himself, lingered for a moment on the ache in bones that really weren’t that old, and decided not to join the others on the beach, as if he had something else to do.

He’d almost reached his bed when he changed his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feeling kind of meh these days guys, so I'm sorry if this feels a bit lazy. I'm going a bit stir-crazy with everything, but I try to keep at least this fic going. There shouldn't be too many chapters left!
> 
> Thank you for following this fic, kudos and comments are always inspiring ❤︎


	7. My place is here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm officially an idiot, or just blind. Either way, I've UPDATED THE TAGS so you might want to check them out before reading on.
> 
> I guess I just forgot? Ugh.

John arrived at the beach just in time to watch the end of a sparring match between Flint and Anne Bonny. They fought liked vicious cats, moving so quickly every strike became a blur before they withdrew, only to strike again. But by the light of the bonfire it was clear to see Flint’s naked back drenched in sweat. Bonny’s face was shining. It ended when Flint hit one of Bonny’s blades so hard it flew from her grasp. She stepped quickly into his guard and put the other one against his throat just as he brought his sword up to do the same to her.

“It’s a tie!” Hamilton said loud enough that his voice cut through the crackling of the fire, the fiddles and drums, and the talking of hundreds of people currently on the beach. John had never seen such a gathering there before.

Flint and Bonny stared at each other across their blades, then something seemed to be communicated between them, though John didn’t understand what, and Bonny slinked away to Max’s side.

“You and me, Admiral! Everyone else have had a go, come on!” some other pirate yelled, too drunk to keep his voice from slurring. Flint was swaying on his feet, but he snorted at the words.

“I’m afraid miss Bonny wore me out. I’m getting old.” He managed a grin and the pirates around him roared in laughter.

“Getting old, he says! And still he can take any two of you lot at a time!” someone shouted. Flint laughed, then made his way back to where Thomas and Madi were sitting on a couple of chairs sunk deep into the sand.

“Tell me, how long has it been since Flint cultivated this kind of friendship with the men?” John asked in Madi’s ear and she jumped in her chair.

“John! I heard you were back, we thought you would not come.”

“But here I am.” Her eyes softened as she smiled at him.

“Here you are.” She took his hand for a moment, then snapped around when Flint reached them. He almost fell into Hamilton’s lap in his exhaustion from the fight with Bonny, but Hamilton kept him an arm’s length away.

“Absolutely not, you are disgusting, my dear.” Flint smiled at him in that way that smoothed the muscles in his face and softened his eyes, then he looked up and saw John beside Madi.

“I expected you earlier,” He said as he smoothed his hand into Hamilton’s hair. “But I suppose I would have known if something went wrong. How are you?” His free arm was twitching across his body like he felt suddenly self-conscious in a way he hadn’t in front of everyone else. His chest was a mess of scars and freckled stars, shining almost like blood in the light of the bonfire.

John shrugged. “As could be expected. My leg’s as good as it will ever be if that’s what you’re asking about. It was ugly business.” Flint nodded and the silence thickened like he was expecting Hamilton to start shouting about it again.

“Go take a dip in the sea, James, you stink,” was all Hamilton said to break it. Immediately the tension lifted and Flint smiled the smile that was all teeth.

“Alright. But only if you come with me, my lord.” His eyes glinted for a moment, then he stalked off down the beach. Hamilton grinned after him, chucked his own shirt over his head and threw it in the sand, then thought for a moment before he grabbed the back of the chair and put it down right beside Madi’s, in front of John’s legs.

“I don’t need it for the moment,” he shrugged. John watched his retreating back and saw that it was as littered with scars as Flint’s chest, if not more so. He still walked straight-backed and proud as a lord.

“Sit,” Madi murmured and handed him her bottle of rum when he eased into the chair. He shrugged his coat off his shoulders before he took it and drank deeply. “He has been teaching us to fight a few evenings every week. Just in case, he says, but I think he enjoys teaching people the things he knows. The other pirates didn’t want to be taught, but they started challenging each other. They got angry when he told them what they did wrong, but then he challenged the biggest of them and beat him in less than a minute. Since then almost everyone has tried to beat him, sometimes even two at once. He rarely loses.”

“Who are ‘we’?”

“Me and Thomas. Sometimes Max and Anne are there, sometimes even Max takes a blade in her hand, but she is not made for fighting.”

“And you are?” John found himself smiling at the image, wistful that he had missed it. She grinned at him. “Have you stopped wearing dresses?” he asked suddenly, not knowing where the question came from or why he’d said it. He regretted it instantly, but she only smiled.

“Trousers are more practical.” She smoothed down the trousers covering her thick thighs, and John couldn’t help but glance at her delicate hands, swallowing down the longing in his throat.

“They suit you.” They sat in silence for a while, and John felt oddly shy. He’d seen Madi naked, but now he felt he was barely allowed to look at her out the corner of his eye. He drank again, hands wringing the neck of the bottle nervously. She looked utterly comfortable, half a smile on her face as she looked over the happy crowd around them. There were as many maroons as pirates, John noticed, and they seemed to be getting along well enough. Madi looked proud. She looked beautiful. She also looked a bit drunk, John realised.

“The moon is beautiful,” she muttered. Her head lolled gently to the side until it was resting on his shoulder and John stiffened, afraid to breathe in case it would make her pull away.

“It is,” he agreed, kept his voice low and soft. It wasn’t before a few minutes late he realised she’d fallen asleep against him. He couldn’t help it, he traced a finger down the side of her face and pressed a kiss into her hair, smelling of salt and smoke and her.

She sighed herself awake just as Flint and Hamilton approached from the water, dripping wet but wearing suspiciously dry trousers. They were walking hand in hand, shameless amongst thieves and escaped slaves, looking so perfectly at ease John could weep. Flint had found his place in the world again, and John wondered if he would ever be allowed back to his. Madi pulled her head from his shoulder, but she was looking at him with kindness, and he thought that perhaps, in time, he would.

*

By the time Rackham returned as the last from the hunt, a ship had already left to sell New Providence produce to the colonies. The situation in Nassau seemed stable, though that underlying nervousness, waiting for something to happen – for the spell to break – remained. It remained in the streets and it remained in the council. Flint was growing ambitious again now that he’d gotten his feet under himself again and the shock of having Hamilton back was gone, and Madi was right there by his side, as eager as he to do more – always more.

“I think we could do it,” Flint said in one of the meetings. “It would only take one ship to ferry the maroons to the shore. The plantation is only a few hours inland, and with no one expecting an attack, especially with such numbers, we could take it with minor losses, free the slaves and burn the plantation.”

“And what, exactly, do you want to accomplish, Admiral?” Hamilton asked. John had never seen him so tired and drawn, and he wondered how Flint could keep pressing him like this when it was clear that he wasn’t well. “The owners would be mildly inconvenienced for a time, then they would buy new slaves and carry on. We would… attract attention and Mrs Guthrie would leave us to the wolves.” Hamilton cradled his forehead in his palm and sighed deeply. “Now, _please_ , can we leave this behind us?” Flint had finally gotten his head out of his arse. When he spoke, his voice was as dark as death.

“Thomas, are you alright?” His voice was more warning that worry.

“No I – I think I need a doctor. Excuse me, I’m not feeling myself.” He was breathless, seemingly just from keeping himself up.

“You said you were fine,” Flint retorted, and a growl had crept into his voice.

“Yes, well, I thought it was just a faint. I do get faints sometimes but it’s fine, they –”

“You have _faints_?” the silence in the room was only disturbed by the noises from the tavern downstairs and Flint’s laboured breathing. The air thickened with his growing anger.

“From time to time.” Flint steadied himself on John’s shoulder as he rose.

“Get the doctor,” he whispered, and John didn’t hesitate, then; “Why,” he growled at Thomas, “when did you start getting faints, Bethlem or the plantation?” He’d rounded the table and was pulling Hamilton’s arm over his shoulder. The man was swaying, brow glistening with sweat.

“Darling, for the moment I would prefer if you helped me to bed, instead of planning how to raze Bethlem to the ground – oh, shit.” His knees buckled from pain, and Flint barely caught him before he hit the ground. John fished in his pocked for a small vial of substance. He debated only for a moment, before holding it out toward him

“Here, I have laudanum, for the pain.” Hamilton jerked away from him like he’d hit him.

“NO! No, James, no laudanum, I would rather die!” And John – cracked, somehow, inside, at the sound of his voice, at the look on Flint’s face. “James, I mean it! I would die before battling that addiction again, I would!” James was hushing him, but he looked dazed, unable to do anything but stand there and hush Hamilton who was looking more and more like he was facing death – or something worse – while the entire council was there, pretending not to see anything. John couldn’t stand it.

He hobbled to Hamilton’s other side, pressed himself underneath his arm, then he and James half-carried Hamilton from the room, into Guthrie’s old quarters where a bed was stowed in the corner. They eased Hamilton into it and John slipped away, followed by the sound of Hamilton’s weak but desperate protests.

The doctor arrived shortly after, in a sweat and a worry, and John slithered from the room.

No one seemed to know quite what to say after that. Max looked worried and remained silent as if to try and listen to what was going on in the other room. Featherstone looked even more uncomfortable than usual, though that might be because it looked like Idelle’s hand was creeping closer and closer to his crotch.

“Give him any laudanum and I will personally see to it that you regret the day you were born,” Flint growled from the other room, then he slammed the door behind him and sat down in his chair beside John, oozing with anger – or perhaps it was just disguised worry.

They continued the meeting like nothing had happened, a bit hesitant at first, and weren’t interrupted again until the doctor returned to them, informing them that the governor was asleep.

“He is very sick; you should have come to me much sooner. Luckily, his heart and his body are still strong. He will be fine. For now, he needs rest.”

“Thank you,” Flint said, looking appropriately scolded, though he tried to hide that, too, with his brusque growl. John looked down in his lap, hiding a smile.

*

James was reading when Thomas woke up that evening and asked if he was dying. He didn’t quite manage to find it funny.

“Faints?” he asked instead. Instead of answering Thomas insisted on being moved to the mansion. James was pretty sure he could withstand Thomas’ complaints till the man fell asleep from exhaustion, but he wasn’t entirely against the idea of being sequestered at home with him when he was like this, so he could oversee and mange him on his own. So he barely put up a fight, instead he got someone to fetch a carriage, then supported Thomas into the back of it.

It wasn’t a long ride, but Thomas was almost asleep when they reached the house, and he seemed twice as heavy as before when James had to walk him upstairs to the bedroom. He lay with Thomas till he fell asleep, then got up and made a potful of stew so it would be ready when he woke again.

For two days he only seemed to worsen, and all James could do was to feed him, wipe his brow and tell him he would be alright. He genuinely enjoyed caring for Thomas in this way. It was such an easy way to show his affection without having to worry about saying the wrong thing or putting on a fitting expression, but when his fever broke James was glad to leave the house in the evening.

Thomas was sleeping, but he’d put food and water by the bed in case he woke, then he went out and found John in the tavern, nursing a drink in the corner with a candle burning low.

He’d heard that John had taken to spending his evening here, but he hadn’t joined him there before. He didn’t quite see the appeal, had thought John would do the exact opposite and spend more time with the men now that the threat of imminent death was off their shoulders, but he seemed to have sunken into himself somehow. James wondered idly if John had simply changed more than he’d realised, or if he’d never known the real face of the man at all.

“I realised I never thanked you. For finding Thomas.” John looked up at him, a bit startled at the sudden company. His eyes were bright, almost shining despite the dingy light.

“Careful, the men might believe we’re actually _friends_ again.”

“For once in my life I’d be telling them a truth.” James smiled, he couldn’t help it, despite that it felt wrong in this company. Felt like it belonged to another man.

“You’re a fucking mystery to me,” John said, as if he’d plucked the thought from his head. “All since _he_ arrived, I’ve had no idea who I’m dealing with when I look at you, and some days I’m afraid not even _you_ know. He said something about that. He told me that I… needed to know what kind of person I was, and what kind of person I want to be. Half the time his words haunt me, the rest of the time I’m wondering if either of us can begin the process without the other.”

“The men’s talk has gotten to your head.” John looked away from him, considering the drink in his hand. “Look, I meant it. I can’t forgive what you did, but I can understand it. I can’t punish you for something I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done in your place. I’m grateful that you bothered to find Thomas and I want to continue what we were trying to build, here in Nassau. I want to do it with you by my side because when we put our minds to the same goal, we can achieve anything, I still believe that.” John was nodding, but he was looking away. James did too, feeling suddenly awkward.

It wasn’t a busy day, and they were comfortably snug and alone in their corner. Too much so, perhaps. James rubbed the back of his neck, stalling for a bit, or summoning his courage. “You’re my friend. Despite what you did. I mean that.” John wasn’t answering and James began to feel uncomfortable, wondering if John was reading too much into his words, or too little. When he managed to pull his eyes back to John, he saw that he was still looking away, throat working as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t. James gave him some time to work it out.

“She doesn’t understand why I did it,” John said at last. When he continued, his voice was thick with choked back tears. “She wouldn’t have done the same in my stead, she would have listened to you. I’ve never loved anyone before, and I don’t know what to fucking do about it.” James almost reached out. He wanted to comfort him, to let him know that he wasn’t alone, that he would be heard, that he would have support if he wanted it.

It was all because of Thomas, this _instinct_. Thomas had always made him feel like it was natural that men should reach out and hold each other, comfort each other in soft ways even when they didn’t love each other like he loved Thomas. He made him feel that men should be kind to each other and care for each other and that crying wasn’t a weakness.

John was holding back tears, and he looked like he’d been doing it for weeks because he couldn’t let himself look weak, and James couldn’t stand to look at him like that. Society had told James Flint that he couldn’t hold John’s hand to comfort him because he was his friend, so he reached out and he fucking did it. His palm covering the back of John’s hand where it was curled into a fist on the tabletop. He prodded John’s fingers apart and laced his own between them. He felt sick, he felt elated, he felt almost like the noose was tightening around his neck.

“You have a lot to make up for,” James told him. “But you’ll do it, and Madi will come to realise that this is the best outcome we could hope for. Thomas is already working on convincing her, and no one knows better than I how persuasive he can be.” John was still looking away, half shaking his head. His fingers were trembling between James’. “She loves you,” James whispered, and his voice broke. “I know she does. I saw her waiting on the beach for you after we thought we’d lost you. She loves you, but she needs time.”

“I keep wondering,” John whispered, and his fingers tightened around James’. “I keep wondering if she would ever have looked twice at me, hadn’t I been standing at your side. I keep wondering if all of it, if what we had, was all built on the foundation of the promised war. I keep wondering if that was all it ever was.”

“Come.” James pulled him up by their linked hands before letting go so he could shove him out the back door and into the empty alley behind the tavern. The sky was black above their heads, but even here the tang of the sea was etched in every brick, every stone. It smelled fresh and new and suddenly James felt that he was somewhere else, in a new place and a different time, discovering something for the first time.

James embraced him before he could pull away, held him so tight it must feel like half a threat. John sobbed into his shoulder.

“ _Fuck you_ ,” he growled. “Let me go.” There was no strength in his arms when he tried to push James away, so James only held him tighter and put his lips by John’s ear.

“It’s alright, to feel like you’re lost. It’s not shameful, to feel. It’s not – shameful, to weep.” The words tasted like bile in his throat and he felt – wrong just saying them. He couldn’t help but think that John would see him differently, that he would think he harboured feelings for him, that he _desired_ him. James swallowed his fear, though it was thick down his throat. “You’re going to have to pretend, in there. Pretend that everything’s alright, that you know what you want and how to get it. But with me – there will be nothing but honesty between you and I from now on. And this –” he leaned back, wiped a tear from John’s cheek with his thumb, “this is honest, and I don’t think less of you because of it. I can’t help you, I can’t be your _friend,_ without knowing _this_.”

“ _Fuck._ ” John was shaking in his arms, almost violently. He was trying to clutch to the last pieces of his pride even as he clung to James’ shoulders with desperation. “I’m not used to this.”

“To what?” He wished he could see John’s face, to know which emotions made him quiver like this, but all he could see of him were his curls.

“Another person… sticking around. Caring enough to do _this_. So fuck you.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper.

“You want me to leave?” It was more to give John the option than actually believing that he wanted him to leave, but there was still that nagging doubt at the back of his mind. It had always been there, in the navy bunking with the others; the fear of being found out. It was there during every interaction with Thomas before he kissed him, it was there even after they’d lain together, wondering when he’d be discarded, tossed aside. It was the feeling of being _wrong_ , and he was fucking sick of it.

“No. No, please.”

*

“Where were you?” Thomas’ voice was weak. He was still in bed, drenched in sweat and miserable. He was stretching his hand out toward James in the doorway, though he was as white as his sheets.

“Out, getting supplies.”

“At sword-point?” James unbuckled his sword belt and sat down on the bed beside Thomas, taking his limp hand and letting it rest in his lap.

“This place isn’t stable yet, I’m not going outside the house without a weapon until I trust that it is.” He sighed, feeling wrung out after seeing John in that state. Part of him simply wanted to curl up behind Thomas and sleep it off, the other half was disgusted by the state of both the man and the bed. He groaned and stood up. “I’ll draw you bath, you can’t lie in your own sweat forever. A bath won’t kill you.”

“I’m so tired, James.”

“I know, I’ll carry you.” He put the tub right by the bed so Thomas wouldn’t have to move much, then filled it bucked by bucket. It was slow work, but at least he didn’t need to heat all of it. The evening was so hot a bit of cold water would probably do Thomas good, despite his sickness.

Thomas had fallen into a slumber but roused quickly when James began pulling his clothes of despite his gentleness. James didn’t like that; Thomas had always slept so deeply he was difficult to wake in the morning. These days he would be standing fully awake in the bed at the smallest sound, and James couldn’t think about it without feeling the familiar heat of rage curling sickly in his belly.

Thomas sighed in pleasure when James gentled him into the tub.

“Will you wash me?”

“Yeah, but I’ll change on the bed first.”

He pulled a chair up behind the tub and lathered his hands with soap as Thomas dunked his hair in the water. The poor man moaned when James set to massaging his head.

“I’ll thank you by letting you suck me off later, my dear,” Thomas muttered.

“I always knew you to be generous,” James snorted, but kept massaging as long as Thomas wanted him to. “I saw John, at the tavern.”

“Oh?”

“He’s – I don’t know he…” James sighed, let his forehead drop to press against Thomas’ temple as his hand slid down his chest, clutching the sponge. “He’s turbulent, uncertain. I think he’s afraid and I don’t know how to,” James grit his teeth, reminded himself that this was Thomas, that it was alright. “I don’t know how to talk to him, to let him know that there’s a place for him here.”

“James –”

“Don’t.” Thomas sighed. “It’s difficult.”

“I know. I just want to get to know him, like I have gotten to know Madi. Sometimes I almost think _you’re_ afraid. Afraid of what I’ll see when I see him, or – or perhaps afraid that I’ll like him, or that I won’t like him? It doesn’t bloody matter, James. My thoughts on him should have no effect on what is between you. You know I wouldn’t be so petty, even if I detested him.”

“I know, I’m not saying that.” He kept stubbornly washing Thomas’ chest, pretending to figure out why he was left feeling so uncertain, despite not wanting the answer at all. “He’s just… he’s so...” He fiddled with the rag for a moment before he began washing Thomas’ arm.

“Would you tell me something about him? Not who he is, or what he is, just – something you’ve done, or talked about, perhaps.”

He could do that, James could talk about him as he washed Thomas clean, and he realised that was part of what he wanted. To simply talk about John to another human being when he wasn’t afraid of being perceived in a particular way, when he could be unafraid of what he showed of himself.

By James’ guess it was around two in the morning when they slipped back into bed. Thomas was shaking with cold, so James wrapped himself around him and they fell asleep in that way, one less burden, one less ache. One less thing unsaid between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhnd here we are again, sorry for the wait, friends.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, we are drawing toward a conclusion, albeit slowly. Hopefully I won't be too busy with exams to keep writing and updating.
> 
> Kudos and comments are love <3


	8. Rebuild and grow

“I must admit I imagined the plantation owners to have larger houses, but I see not even they were spared the Spanish torch.” When Thomas turned to look at him, he realised James was no longer beside him. He’d halted a few paces behind, and was staring at the house. “James?”

“This was our home,” he said. Thomas turned back to the blackened house and saw it in an entirely different way this time. This had been their _home_. Miranda had lived here for ten long years, she’d known every path, every plant, every corner of this abandoned house. Thomas couldn’t speak. He was urging his horse toward the house, slipped off before it had completely halted. He felt he was chasing something, a feeling, a scent, a memory.

He was about to burst in the door when a large maroon suddenly appeared there and grabbed both his shoulders to walk him backwards, startling him despite his soft touch.

“No!” the man said, just as part of the roof fell in somewhere in the house. James caught up with them and gentled Thomas’ startled form away from the man.

“That’s Obi, I’m paying him and some of his friends to restore it.”

“Is very bad,” the maroon, Obi, said.

“Can we go in?” James pointed inside. Obi considered for a moment before he waved at them to follow, then went further into the house where the ruckus had come from, leaving them alone. Thomas took a hold of James’ elbow to keep himself grounded as they stepped inside the remaining shell of Miranda’s presence.

The only smells were of wood and ash and ruin, but at least this room had been cleared of debris, and all furniture as well.

“After Miranda… after Charlestown, the house stood empty for a while. Later, when we were fighting to reclaim Nassau the pirates used it as headquarters. I wasn’t here until later, and by then they’d made themselves at home. I -”

“It must’ve been very hard for you,” Thomas whispered. He was trying to picture Miranda bustling around in this place, stoking the fire and making food. He didn’t quite manage it. Not because he couldn’t see her in a place like this, but because he’d forgotten the cut of her jaw, the colour of her hair, the expression in her eyes when she was thinking about how exasperating she found him. He tried to remember, to pull her likeness from his mind, but it was like wading in mud, like reaching through years of fog that amounted to the time in Bethlem when he’d felt like less than a man. There had come a time, in that place, when all that existed was the pain and the cold. When those were the limits of his reality and he couldn’t think of anything else. Trying to reach for Miranda’s face through that was like gripping the fog with his bare fingers. Always slipping, cold and mocking.

“You were husband to her for almost as long as I was,” Thomas realised.

“I can’t find myself doing to you what I did to her,” James whispered hoarsely. “I was never husband to her, I was her goaler, forcing her to stay here and wait for me to return for ten years, unable to do anything as our pain turned our love, until all we could do was to hurt each other.”

“If you think you could force _my wife_ into anything she was entirely against, you think too highly of yourself, James. She would never have stayed if she knew of a preferable alternative. She stayed because she loved you, because she loved me and all that we fought for and that was _her_ choice, freely taken.” The sun was slanting through the dirty windows, winking in his eyes as he turned to look James in the face. He looked conflicted, not wretched like he had every time he thought of Miranda when they’d first been reunited, but still bothered. Thomas hoped he was working to forgive himself.

“Peter promised he would do anything in his power to get you out of there, and we trusted him. Then we heard about your death – it had been two, three? years and still we felt like we’d just arrived in Nassau, had just managed to begin a life here. The only thing we talked about was how much we looked forward to when you arrived, all the things we’d do to help you settle here, help Nassau from within.

“Everything was so fresh in our minds when the news came that it broke us, enraged us beyond despair. It felt like lighting from a clear sky, though when I look back now, I knew we shouldn’t have held hope for as long as we did. and We were never the same since then. Not since we… we plotted and managed to kill your father. It broke us.”

“I don’t think so,” Thomas said gently as he looked out the window in the kitchen. “I think you had many good days in this place, you and Miranda. James, look at me.” He took James’ hands and held them between their bodies as he tilted his head forward, managing a small smile at the plea in James’ eyes. “Tell me something good.”

James’ breath hitched, and he closed his eyes when Thomas brought his hands to his face. “It was good, not to be alone with the memories of you. In later years we could lie in bed together and talk about you for hours.” James swallowed, licked his lips. “We liked to make dinner together when I was home. She used to be awful at cooking, and she always preferred to experiment instead of actually making something edible, but between the two of us we made some very good meals. It was a good way to spend an evening. She liked to sing, said she missed music.”

“Oh God, and you survived that?” James chuckled, blinked his eyes up at him.

“She got better at that too. And after I got her the spinet I was mostly saved from her singing. Sometimes she took me by the hands and danced, but that was even worse.” James’ hands covered Thomas’ on his face. “I miss her so much sometimes.”

“But you want to live here?” James nodded.

“I don’t want to forget her.”

“We’ll keep her memory alive, James. She would be happy knowing that we found each other again.” James nodded, and Thomas kissed the tear from his cheek.

*

“With whose money are you paying them, exactly?” Thomas wanted to know as they rode on toward the plantations.

“My own. Why, are you accusing me of stealing from the cache?” James laughed at him when he refused to answer. “Unlike the rest of pirates, I didn’t drink, whore and shit away my prize money. I was the most profitable captain on this island for ten years, I stowed away most of it. It was my contingency plan if I couldn’t… waylay a treasure galleon.”

“How the times have changed! Now _you_ are the rich, pompous prick, and _I_ the penniless bastard clutching him with both hands, hoping that he’ll reward me. Oh, how unjust the world!” Thomas cried at the sky, and he couldn’t help but laugh just as loudly at the disgruntled look on James face.

“I see old age has done nothing to instil a sense of decency in you.”

“Old age! My dear, I feel younger than I have in years. Come down from your high horse, and I’ll show you exactly how young I feel in those bushes!” Once he’d said it, Thomas realised how extraordinarily good an idea that was, so he pulled James from his horse and kissed him before he could voice his complaint. His hair was long enough for Thomas to bury his hands in, and it was soft, so soft, like the vulnerable spot at the back of James’ neck where he cradled it. Thomas prided himself of being very good at persuasion and managed to drown James’ worry about the horses.

They arrived at the plantation before dinner and Madi gave them a tour of the place, though Thomas felt uncomfortable with the entire situation – not just to be back in a place so like where he’d suffered for the last seven years, but also walking like an owner looking at his property. He couldn’t help but feel like the former slaves were looking at his white skin with malice, though he was convinced none of them actually did it. They knew who he was, they knew what kind of place he wanted this to be. Madi would have made sure of that.

Madi and James disappeared once they were back in the house, leaving Thomas to the bookkeeper, which was interesting enough, though he was more curious about why the others felt the need to exclude him from their conversation. Perhaps it was because of the tension between them when they returned, and the scowls on their faces. They looked remarkably similar.

Despite whatever had passed between them, Madi invited them to stay for the night, and they spent the evening listening to Madi’s plans for the future of her plantations. She accompanied them to town in the morning where they each went their separate ways.

Thomas asked around, then eventually found Max in her room at the brothel. He walked in, like he had several times before, as she’d told him he could, but this time he found her startled, naked in her bath. She covered herself, though he had a suspicion it was more to preserve his decency than her own.

“Not to worry, my dear, your body does not arouse me. Do you mind if I join you?”

“Please.” He closed the door behind himself and pulled a chair up behind her like James had done for him the other night.

“May I brush your hair?” he asked and was suddenly flooded with memories of doing the same to both James and Miranda in times gone by.

She looked up at him, her face clean of cosmetics, but no less beautiful. “Was that all you came here for, Lord Governor?” she asked, and her voice was half teasing.

“Now, dear, I will not have you accuse me of ulterior motives, surely!” She handed him the brush and leaned her head back against the rim of the tub.

“You seem healthy.”

“Yes, James is quite the healer.” Thomas began at the bottom and gently worked her hair with the brush.

“Why did you come?”

“I completely forgot, once I was in the presence of my beautiful wife. Can you blame me?”

“Not at all!” The more he brushed her hair, the bushier it got.

“Have I ever told you about my relationship with James and my late wife, Miranda?”

“I do not believe Admiral Barlow would appreciate it,” Max whispered.

“James was a lieutenant in the Navy when he was assigned to me, and we became fast friends very quickly. Of course, _I knew_ from the first time we met that I was awfully attracted to him. You should have seen him in those days, my dear, I couldn’t stop thinking about him and all the things I wanted him to do to me. I knew I would fall in love with him, and I did. Not long after, my famously dishonest wife took him to bed. Now, had I been a regular person I might have been discouraged by her reports of his… enthusiasm. I knew, of course, though she didn’t share the details, it didn’t seem right to breach his privacy like that.”

“You let your own wife fuck him, and you were not jealous? Of either of them?” Max asked idly, elegant fingers playing with the perfumed water.

“I’m simply not made for jealousy, but it’s more than that. I trusted Miranda unconditionally, and she trusted me likewise. I trusted her to be open about her feelings for potential lovers, I trusted her to always tell me the truth. A relationship like ours, when each of us were allowed to take lovers as we pleased, cannot work without trust, communication, and complete honesty. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

“Because of Anne and Jack and I.”

“It took James a long time to realise his love for me, his attraction. He confused it for friendship – remarkable the lengths he was willing to go to to deny his feelings even to himself. When I managed to convince him of his own feelings, and of the fact that I felt the same, our situation complicated further. James was physically attracted to both me and Miranda, equally I think, although his feelings for us were different. And I was much more important to his perception of himself. He thought he would have to sacrifice one of us for the other, and he was torn, because it was so much easier with Miranda. Yet he couldn’t give me up, because he loved me, and I helped him finally let go of something that had been a dark spot on his soul his entire life; his shame.

“We helped him see that he didn’t have to choose at all, sometimes not even which bedroom he slept in. I wasn’t attracted to Miranda’s body, but I loved _her_ , and I was as comfortable in bed with her as any husband with his wife. We made it work, the three of us. We made our boundaries clear, we forced James to speak of his own wants even when it made him uncomfortable, because it would never have worked otherwise. From what I can tell, Miss Bonny is no fonder of talking about her feelings than he was.”

Max seemed to think on that for a while before she turned in the tub and rested her chin on his knee. She looked up at him with searching eyes. “Neither is John Silver, I think.”

“Clever woman, though it wasn’t my intention to bring him into this conversation. I know his relationship with James is a complicated one, but I don’t know him well enough to have an opinion on it.”

“He sits alone almost every night in the tavern.” Thomas pushed his hand into her bushy hair instead of answering, gently patting it behind her ear. “I think Anne has promised to kill you – or at least geld you – if you touch me.”

“Tell me if you don’t want me to, but know that I only do it as a friend. I will never have intentions toward you. Even if I were interested in women you would be too young for me.” She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes.

“Do you truly believe that we can save this place? That we can create something stable?”

“Yes. Don’t you?”

“Maybe, or perhaps it is not meant to be stable at all. Perhaps stability would be stagnation in this place.” She shrugged, but kept her eyes closed as he petted her hair. “I have read some of the books you gave me, about economy and politics and law.”

“And how do you find them?”

“Boring,” she grinned, “but informative.” He chuckled, and they stayed like that for a little while longer, until Max’s water grew cold and she stepped out as he held a towel up for her. “I will speak with Anne and Jack. If you have suggestions on how to go about it, I will be happy to hear them.”

“I was happy to realise, after watching you in this place for a while, that although you have managed to convince everyone else of your ambition and your savvy, you are first and foremost a woman with much love to give. I know no greater virtue than that.”

“Ah, Tomà, mon chère, have you not heard that I am a very dangerous woman who knows the value of secrets of this nature? You should be careful when speaking so honestly with a woman like me.”

“Hardly, I’m beginning to think you actually like me! Come now, James must be looking for me.”

Not only that, James had found him – had been waiting outside the room for the last five minutes with a stern expression on his face. Thomas laughed when he saw him.

“Husband! Whatever have I done to put such an expression on your beautiful face?” Thomas asked as he took James’ face in his hands and kissed him thoroughly, laughing again as Max patted his shoulder and left them alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, it's summer and I'm finally done with my exams and that is great!
> 
> What is not so great is that I've been so uninspired of late, and I have lots of plans in the immediate future. I'll write on this fic when I have the time, and I _will_ finish it, but it might take more time than originally planned and I'm sorry about that!
> 
> I hope life is treating you all well, thank you so much for reading my work, you are stars ❤︎❤︎


	9. Take me for a walk, I'll show you what I mean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unconventional proposals, drunken pirate shenanigans, and a divided leadership - will Nassau Town remain the same in the absence of its most important councilors, or will this wretched hive of scum and villainy fall to its true, malicious nature? Read and Find out!
> 
> (this publicist takes no responsability for misleading titles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Updating? It's less likely that I've led you to believe!
> 
> Ugh, I'm sorry that this took so long, people. I really was planning on having it finished by July at the lastest and now its *gasp* october?!?!
> 
> The story just got away from me, suddenly I had so many ideas and so much I wanted to do with this thing that was supposed to be max 30k words, hopefully less. So I didn't manage to go forward.
> 
> When I again started writing on this and other drabbles everything just felt so bland and grey and boring and it turned me off writing at all for two months.
> 
> So when I came back to this with a fresher mind two weeks ago everything went surprisingly smoothly and I couldnt' remember half of the plotlines I'd thought of. Luckily! Because I was able to write.
> 
> I am planning for this to be 10 chapters all in all. When last I updated I expected it to get to 15 but that wasn't what this fic was supposed to be, so I don't feel bad approaching an ending now.
> 
> I will make no promises for when the last chapter is up, but hopefull it won't take three months!

Long John Silver sat in his corner of the inn, shadows slanting across his grim face. A candle was flickering by his fingers, glinting off the cup of rum he cradled. Thomas looked at him and he saw a creature fresh from the pages or blown to life from a play. It was as if the air itself seemed to shiver in his presence. Thomas was not proud to say that it had taken him days to build the courage.

“May I join you?” Thomas murmured. For a moment he was not sure that Mr Silver had heard him at all, but then he spoke.

“I have a feeling you will anyway.”

“I do not force my company where it is not wanted.” A flash of teeth glinted from the corner and the chair in front of Thomas’ legs moved toward him, scraping over the floor. Thomas sat, and clenched his hands between his thighs. “I’m going to the continent.”

Mr Silver perked up in surprise and confusion, and something else. Was it dread, or relief? Thomas couldn’t tell. Mr Silver’s ability to cloak his feelings was as uncanny as his ability to disappear unnoticed from any scene. “You’re leaving, now that we’re finally able to build something here?”

“I am not leaving. I’m going to form alliances, to make friends and gather support for our cause and expand our business.”

“I can’t fathom why you would tell me before the council.”

“Before anyone. I haven’t told anyone.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you to come with me.” The proclamation was met with a wall of silence that Thomas instinctively wanted to batter his strength against. _Listen to me, see me, see the man I have become_. The ghost of his father still lingered long after the face of his wife had blurred.

Mr Silver snorted suddenly, and said with something that was not quite amusement; “No one would listen.”

“Some would. Mrs Guthrie has shared with me a list of potential allies. If I can prove my worth to them as well as the legitimacy of our endeavour here, they will be hard pressed to refuse me. With the force of our fleet and the strength of our men, they can’t deny us. They know that we have the potential to become kings of the sea, so I want to offer them a shipping agreement.”

“They will never hear me.”

“They will not see your face, they will have no proof that you’re with me. They will only hear rumours of a one-legged man in their city, and they will know who you are.”

“They would arrest me.”

“You’re pardoned.”

“They will kill me.”

“You’ve fought against worse odds and come out the stronger for it.”

“Why not Flint?”

“They would kill him.” Silver scoffed.

“It continues to astonish me how aligned our priorities seem to be. When will you tell the council?”

*

“For months we have given everything to the restauration of Nassau and look how far we have come. There is peace in the streets, there is food that has not been stolen, people that before were enemies can work side by side because of our leadership. We have seen the progress of years come by in only months. What I see is a society that is so used to change that it has become remarkably adaptable, and because of the people who now sit in this room we have been able to guide these changes and stabilise them. We have laid the groundwork of a prosperous society and it is time for us to expand, to ensure that our promises can be delivered upon. It is time for me to visit the colonies.”

“What makes you believe that anyone would listen to you, or care about what you have to say?” Featherstone challenged. The man truly had grown into his role as a leader, and Thomas rejoiced to see it.

“I have a list of potential allies given to me by Mrs Guthrie, I have Mrs Guthrie’s explicit encouragement in my endeavour, I have a fleet, a captain that is more legend than man, and more tobacco than I know what to do with. I am sure someone would be willing to listen. And when one does, more follow. If that is not enough, the promise of profit should at least tickle some ears.” Rackham looked dubious.

“You intend to bring Flint to the colonies, to the very towns where he raided and killed governors?”

“No,” Thomas said, feeling only a little embarrassment as he said, “I intent to bring Long John Silver, and I don’t intend to be seen with him.” James snorted, but at least he didn’t look offended. He looked over at Silver and nodded his head almost imperceptibly at him. Thomas was sure Silver saw.

“And you are willing to do this?” Madi asked, studying Silver with curiosity in her brown eyes. “Last I remember you were not too happy to be at sea.”

“I will do what needs to be done,” he reassured her, and the look he levelled at each of the other council members was enough to make a brave man shudder.

*

“You sure about this?” James asked one night. He still had time to change his mind, or to bring someone else, but Thomas had set his mind to the idea.

“Yes, dear.” He pushed onto his elbow, hovering over James’ body, drinking him in by candlelight.

“You’ll be away for a while.” Thomas smiled and smoothed away the crease between James’ brows with his thumb.

“Not long enough for you to forget me, I hope.”

“Never,” James promised as he kissed him, feather light and warm. James’ hand on his flank was dry and familiar, drawing gooseflesh where it went. Thomas shuddered, and kissed him harder.

“I’ll come back to you.” He kissed James’ cheekbone, the crease by his mouth that was covered with beard, his jaw and further back to its hinge. “I will make sure of it.” He breathed into James’ ear and felt his sigh on his shoulder. Thomas latched gently to James’ neck and gave a soft, sucking kiss that never failed to make him tense in anticipation of what was to come.

James’ nipples responded to the first touch of Thomas’ tongue and James tried to arch his back. Thomas’ strong hand, fingers wound in the hair on James’ chest, pushed him down.

“Let me.”

James trembled, but lay still as Thomas slid their bodies together. The feeling of skin on skin, of lover pressed close, was euphoric. Thomas took James in his mouth and James’ opened in a wordless moan.

“ _Thomas_ ,” James begged, and his legs were trembling around Thomas’ ears. When he was ready, Thomas pushed inside his heat and covered James’ body with his. His love was shivering despite the warmth of the night.

“Everything will be alright,” Thomas promised. “I will look after him, I will make sure that he is safe.” James moaned, and clung to Thomas’ back. He had buried his head in Thomas’ shoulder, and Thomas could only claim him, take him slow and deep over and over in a rhythm as steady as the sea. “Oh, love, I will come back to you. Never fear, my dear.” James was gasping, gulping for air as Thomas kept his pace as it was. He knew it was enough, he knew that he could rock James to completion like this untouched. He had done it before. “Come for me James, please.”

He did, and it was almost painful, but it drew Thomas’ pleasure from him almost lazily. But he was not ready to let go yet, not ready to leave the heat of James’ embrace, so he stayed put between his thighs, between his arms as their breathing came in sync and their hearts beat as one in their chests.

*

Half of Nassau was there to see them leave but Thomas was not bothered as he kissed James in front of all of them, not when he held him in trembling arms and a tear slipped down his face.

“We’ll see each other soon,” he promised himself, then let James help him into the boat.

Silver’s goodbye to Madi was not half as intimate but just as meaningful, and James could honestly smile at him when they embraced.

“Take care of him,” James begged.

“Aye, captain.” John winked, and then he was gone, climbing down to Thomas’ side as they were shipped off to the colonies.

“Do you think they will be friends when they return, or bitter enemies?” Madi wondered with a mischievous smile.

“You underestimate Thomas’ charm.”

“You underestimate John’s stubbornness.” James leaned into her when she put her arm around his shoulders, and he watched with a lighter heart as the ship left the harbour.

*

“Crazy what they can do, just setting their minds to something and making it happen like this.”

August grunted.

“I mean, remember when the Guthries were away for a day and this place would go to shits in a moment? Fucking unnatural, is what it is.”

August grunted again, not looking at her. They were standing on the bridge between the brothel and the inn, and he was looking toward the harbour like he was just waiting for the Spanish Inquisition or something.

“Why are you _never_ happy?” she asked at last, turning to face him full-on, hand on her hip.

“I am! I’m perfectly happy. Never better.”

“You worry more than anyone else I’ve ever seen in my entire life. Can’t you just _please_ be glad that God has graced us with a man so perfect and wholesome that an entire island of pirates, whores and slaves have pressed him to their chest like Jesus on the fucking cross? A man that can pacify even Captain Flint?”

“It’s not right.”

“What’s not right?”

“Everything. Anything. He’s gone and Silver’s gone, and everybody are just… going about their day. ‘Good mornin mr murderous pirate, how goes the fort today?’ and ‘jolly morning dear ol fellah, the fort is peace and play. How goes the sick aunt? She is well? Oh, it please me! Bring this toy for the kids that I made of my own hands with my own time. Money, oh you insult me!’ _It’s bloody unnatural!_ ”

“You know this is how the rest of the world works, right?”

“We’re in Nassau, not Westminster! Next you’ll be telling me Anne Bonny is wanting kids for chist sake! Look at them, they’re all docile.”

“Look, Thomas told them he was proud of them. None of them want to be the reason he turns tail when he gets back. I bet if Flint wasn’t already sucking his cock half of Nassau would be on their knees, ready to please.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Sucking cock?”

“No! This… this fragile peace. It’s going to break.”

“Nah. Not if Max has anything to say about it, or that pretty princess. You’re so caught up in the puppets you don’t even see the strings. It’s not going to break, August, the people are actually happy. When was the last time you saw Little Ham with a smile on his face when he wasn’t drunk? Look at him now, _making conversation_ with the barber. They’re just men, August. Not monsters. So just stop worrying so much and marry me. _Idelle Featherstone_. Sounds nice.” It was difficult to get comprehensible sounds out of him after that, but Idelle didn’t mind. Like he didn’t seem to mind that technically it was his job to do the proposing.

*

“You think we would have made a good team?”

“Would’a made a great team.”

James let his arm spill over the side of the boat, fingers tracing the water idly, chasing the touch of moonlight. The stars were bright, and this far from Nassau the only sound was the wind and the waves and the creaking of the boat.

“My grandfather told me once that drinking alone at sea was bad luck.”

“You’re not alone,” she scoffed. He heard the _dickhead_ she hadn’t said.

“Well, you’re drunk too.”

“’s not bad luck. Jus bad thinkin. An I don’t ‘ave to think to get back to shore.” It was James’ turn to scoff. It was followed by silence and the occasional sound of Bonny tilting her bottle for another drink.

They had already been indulging when the idea struck them to take a small boat to open water and simply glide around unseen and unheard in the darkness. Thomas and John were still on the continent, Max and Jack had gone to the interior, to Madi, two days ago. James and Anne had… stumbled upon each other. Drunk in the inn, sick of that place and its people.

Their plan might not have been the brightest nor the safest, but then again, they were the most vicious pirates of the Caribbean. They had made a living off of being drunk at sea.

“When d’you find out you liked Max?” He didn’t _really_ want to talk about this. But he sort of did. It was different with Thomas, who had no qualms, no shame or insecurities. Thomas liked men. He’d loved Miranda, but he liked men. Every time with Miranda had made James doubt his feelings towards Thomas. Every time with Thomas he’d doubt his feelings toward her.

“I dunno. Guess I knew, before I really knew I knew. I passed by her room one day an she was jus standin there, naked, drying her hair. _Fuck_.” James hummed in sympathy. He would never forget his first time in the Navy. “I knew when she kissed me. Knew how much I wanted it.” It was a testimony to just how much they had imbibed that Bonny offered the information freely.

“What’d you do?”

“Put a knife to her throat. Didn’t even flinch, she was that sure of me. And I couldn’t even see it.”

“We were just having dinner. Thomas’ father had been there and fucked everything up, and I told him to fuck off.”

“Wasn’t it his house?” James chuckled.

“Yeah. Thomas got up, and I thought he was going to thank me for my efforts and send me on my way. Then he just… just put his hands on my shoulders –” James shook his head, still barely convinced that it had actually happened, that it hadn’t been a dream. “Looked into my eyes, like, _looked_ , like he saw everything.”

“Yeah,” Bonny agreed.

“Tilted my head, touched my face just a bit.” Bonny nodded. He could barely see it in the dark, where she was stretched across the middle seat not three feet away, but he saw. “Then he kissed me.”

“Fucking brutal they are, doin things like that.” James hummed in agreement. “Treating you like you have a sign around your neck saying _fragile_ and still it feels like they deck you, you know.”

“I know.”

Again, there was silence. James looked up at the sky and he saw stars, large and close, far away and winking. They were so bright out here at night, with no other light to spoil the view. Even the silence seemed to enhance their presence. Perhaps only in true peace would the stars bless you with their full potential. James was never more at peace in the moment than when he was at sea. Barring a few instances of post-coital bliss.

“Were you ever ‘fraid you were foolin yourself? That you couldn’t want both of’em like that? That you had to choose?”

“Still am.”

“Fuck. Thought it would go away.”

“It’s worse when you only have one of them. You – at least I, began doubting every time I was with one of them.”

“Thought I would have to leave him. Because I wasn’t me anymore, because I couldn’t want him like that anymore. Was fucking awful. Knew that I hurt him. Took me a while to realise he was just as afraid as I was, that he thought I _wanted_ to leave, when I just felt like I had to because I was different. Took me longer to realise I didn’t have to choose. Still expecting it to happen. But – but we talked. Max came in and sat us down an… an we just talked. Well. They talked. I nodded a bit, kissed ‘em.”

James hummed, leaned his head back against the boat and drank to thoughts of Miranda and Thomas and he, together. He knew that he loved her, knew that it wasn’t just a phase, and still… he drowned the doubt in rum and hoped it would stay dead.

*

It took time, like grieving takes time, like there’s no real end to it. It just faded, even when he thought it never would. Bit by bit by bit until he stopped thinking about it. It was still there in his mind, the knowledge, the _awareness_ or expectation of something to come, for something to happen to upset everything again. There was no answer to it, there was no physical action or change that brought an end to it. With time it simply… went away like it had never been there at all. A feeling, a suspicion based on half-truths and poor expectations. James couldn’t say exactly when he stopped being afraid of losing everything again, of Nassau to snap back to reality. But it helped when Thomas and John came back from the continent, worn ragged and tired, but satisfied with a successful journey.

Madi grinned at him when Thomas reached down to help John from the boat and he accepted. _Friends, perhaps_ , her sly smile said, and James couldn’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this jumps around a bit, and I hope it wasn't too confusing. I wanted to put some characters together that we hadn't seen too much of.
> 
> I hope you liked it, and again sorry for taking so long, but please leave and kudos or a comment, it always makes my day!
> 
> Hopefully the end is not too far away.


	10. Tragedy with a happy ending

“You have been spreading rumours.”

John didn’t turn toward the voice, but he saw one side of Madi’s face in the mirror he was using to trim his beard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He returned his gaze to his beard and continued trimming. It was becoming unruly, and he was beginning to regret ever growing one, but he couldn’t shave it off now, he would look like a fool.

“Who called you a good liar? James? Perhaps he was too caught up in his own head to look outwards. I know what you have been doing.” John shrugged, feeling short strands of hair trickle down his chest.

“Was it wrong?”

“It might be dangerous. What if someone talks too loudly?” She still hadn’t moved, just stood there caught in the breeze by the door like judgement, still deciding which way to fall. Her gaze was steady in the mirror, but John didn’t meet it again.

“They know the value of keeping it a secret. How did you find out?” Perhaps he should grow it long, braid some bead and small shells into it. It would be less work. Perhaps.

“Why did you not tell me?” John put down his scissors and wiped his face and chest with the rag over his shoulder, before leaning heavily on the spindly table. He sighed, feeling like an old man as he debated what to tell her.

“Because I didn’t want you to think I was doing it for you.” Clutching his courage, he turned around and faced her. “But truth is, I did do it for you, and part of me wanted you to find out. I tried to think of selfless deeds to do to get you back, or earn your forgiveness – at least make some amends for killing the war. It was surprisingly difficult. Then I started wondering if any act is purely selfless, and I’m still trying to figure it out. I thought doing a selfless thing for selfish reasons was a good place to start, at least better than doing nothing and losing sleep over philosophy.”

“I see. And you feel no responsibility for these people that you have tried to light a way for, a way to freedom? You have no real interest in them, you do not care about them?” She didn’t sound accusing at all, if anything she sounded slightly amused.

“Of course I do,” John said, and for this he did not have the courage to look her in the face anymore. “I had thought that one day they would become my people.” There was a shirt on the chair by the bed. He bent to pick it up and put it on, but it was dirty. He sunk down on the bed instead. “At one point, I thought – I _hoped_ they would be my daughter’s people, my son’s. And in that case, it was my duty to give them a lifeline, if I could. Because they were family. I hear that’s what you’re supposed to do for family. That might never happen now, but I still feel responsible.”

“John,” Madi said as she approached. She was so gentle he ached with longing, but he wouldn’t ask anything of her, just receive whatever she was willing to give him. “Eme told me that some escaped slaves have already made their way to our islands, she told me that the rumour of a safe Nassau has already reached many towns and plantations, and that wherever it goes it inspires hope.”

“That was the idea.” She sat down beside him and took his hand in his, caressing his thumb with hers. He looked up into her eyes.

“Thank you.”

She kissed his forehead before she left, and for a moment he felt oddly relieved that she hadn’t kissed his mouth. He had not done enough to deserve her forgiveness yet, certainly not enough to earn her love. But she had given him hope, too, like she had always done, that there was a way forward.

A week later she brought it up again in one of their regular council meetings.

“I want a network of people in the New World,” Madi said, “that spreads the word of our success in this place only to the people who have a vested interest in keeping it a secret. I want a network of people who find and help escaped slaves so they can direct them our way, to safety and freedom.”

John looked away when the rest of the council received the idea with enthusiasm, feeling uncharacteristically bashful.

“It is not my idea,” Madi insisted, when Thomas congratulated her on her ingenuity. “I got it from Mr Silver, who spent his time on the continent spreading the rumours of a free Nassau. Have you not wondered why so many escaped slaves have found their way to us? He has given them hope, and we must continue to encourage it. _Thank you_ ,” she said, and her eyes were warm.

Outside, in the sunlight, Madi took his hand and pulled him along for a moment of privacy after the meeting.

“You are not the man I thought you were, John,” she told him frankly, with the sun illuminating her regal face, making her skin shine so beautifully. “But I think perhaps that man you are becoming might be better than the one I thought I knew. Perhaps I may even come to love him.” John swallowed, nodding, uncertain of what to do faced with her smile. _Hope_ , he thought, and smiled too.

*

The dock was seldom abandoned, even at night, but when people heard John’s boot-peg-boot-peg rhythm of approach they slunk away like subjects before a king. A part of him enjoyed the treatment, the careless suggestion of power. Another part whispered that he didn’t deserve it, that it was a sham, a lie he had to maintain in order to keep his head above the water. What would they do the moment they realised there was a man of flesh and blood beneath the myth? A man capable of self-doubt and anxiety? A man who was ashamed of his actions, even though he still thought them justified?

It didn’t matter, Long John Silver might rely on their continued reverence, but the man beneath cared nothing for it. He only cared for the opinions of a select few. Yes, he enjoyed the respect he was treated with, but no longer did he rely upon it, no longer did he need it. He did not care for the crown as he had before.

For a long while he stood at the end of the dock, looking toward the dark horizon, contemplating.

No part of him longed for the sea, and the part that had always urged him to move, to avoid attachments, to take what he could and not look back, that part was fading too.

James’ steps on the wood pulled him out of his head. He didn’t need to turn to identify the owner of the boots, he knew the cadence of the man’s step like he knew his own.

Had it been another man he might have resented the interruption, but James joined him in silence, letting it stretch comfortably between them in an interaction that felt like it could belong in a dream. John longed to reach his hand out and touch him, like James had touched him and held his hand in the tavern, but he did not. Instead he let the silence sit, bathing in it and the familiar presence of the man beside him.

*

“Has she forgiven you yet?” James asked in a low voice. It had taken him close to an hour to locate John, and this had been the last place he’d expected to find him standing alone in the darkness.

“I don’t think she will ever forgive me,” John mused, though he didn’t sound too bothered by that. “I’m not sure you can either. But I find myself thinking that it’s not necessary. Perhaps what I did was unforgiveable, but perhaps forgiveness is not necessary for moving forward. Acceptance – I think she has started to accept what I did and why I did it, and I think that might be enough.” James could se it, could see her accepting the man Silver was, the one he was choosing to be, he could see them spending the rest of their lives together like husband and wife, sharing intimacy and connection deeper than what had ever been between he and John. A spike of jealousy, and regret for something lost flared in him. He and John would never reach that stage again, and though perhaps that was for the best, James could not honestly say he wouldn’t miss it.

“I’m glad,” he said, blinking rapidly. John’s knuckles brushed his, and he pulled his hand away quickly. “You deserve her, she’s extraordinary, and I know you’ll be what she deserves too.”

“How can you be so sure?” John whispered. James saw his shoulders sloop a bit out of the corner of his eye.

“Because I know you’ll do anything you can to do right by her. Because I know – I know you love her.” _I’m his friend too_ , James thought, and closed his eyes. “And because I’m proud of you, even with everything you did. You did what you thought was right, and you stand by that. It takes a strong man, a courageous man, to do what you did. You stood up against the people you cared about the most, because you saw what we couldn’t see, and you did what you had to do even if it meant you might lose us. I’m proud of you.” John’s breath came in sharp, like he was trying not to let his emotions betray him, but in the next moment he was moving, crowding into James’ space, putting his hands on James’ hips, touching him like only Thomas did, and put his forehead to James’ shoulder for comfort. James shuddered at the intimacy and the rightness of the touch.

“Thank you,” he muttered, voice hoarse. James put a hand on his shoulder and another on his face, comforting, but as soon as he’d leaned in John pulled away, drew himself back and hurried away without another word, leaving James behind, dumbfounded and unsure on the dock.

*

Thomas had lived on New Providence Island for a year and a half before he started thinking of retiring. Max had not needed much help to begin with, and with allies secured, ships a plenty, and a project for expansion onto a nearby island well under way, there was precious little Thomas was actually needed for these days.

He spoke with Max who agreed with his assessment, and not long after they brought it to the council, making his new unofficial title senior advisor. He was still Governor in name of course, but the whole island knew it was a farce, and he would only join the council meetings now if they asked him to.

It gave him much more time to devote to his personal side-project, that of building acceptable schools for the children on the island. There was already one in Nassau and one for the children at the plantations, but his mission was to teach the teachers. Until now they had been mostly religious persons, with an idea of teaching that was less nuanced and more punishment-oriented than he preferred.

Others had their project as well. James was teaching military strategy to a few promising men, preparing to stepping down too, in not too long.

John was working on his representatives-project that would ensure than when the time came to replace the council it would be done based on the wishes of the people on the island. It had pleased Thomas when he and Madi finally found back to each other. It was clear that they were good together, though they still had their issues to work out. He’d been as surprised as James had when the two approached them with an idea of having a house built within walking distance from them, and though James seemed hesitant at first – Thomas was still not sure why – they had agreed, and more and more Thomas found that they almost never spent an evening alone. More and more he found that he enjoyed it.

That evening Thomas prepared dinner for the four of them, like usual when they were running late with business in Nassau. It was peaceful out here alone, listening to the animals outside while he worked. Dinner was done by the time the others arrived on their horses and Thomas was waiting for them on the porch, smoking his pipe – which James was still teasing him about.

They ate immediately, and Thomas watched James interacting with John keenly. They’d grown so much closer, so much more comfortable with each other the past year, though there still was something between them that would create awkward tension at times.

A while ago he and Madi had talked about it at length and she had assured him of her acceptance of their relationship, should it ever develop. They had also agreed to leave them be and let them take their time to figure everything out between themselves. Things like this could not be rushed, and though a closer relationship between them seemed inevitable to Thomas, it was not his place to interfere. He trusted James, he even trusted John, and he knew they trusted him.

They retreated to the porch after dinner and John reached his hand out for Thomas’ second pipe, making both James and Madi groaned like they always did. He only grinned and puffed on his pipe, smug and satisfied.

It was only then that Thomas realised how close he and Madi were, and how unusually touchy they were.

John cleared his throat, finally, clasping Madi’s hand anxiously.

“There’s something we have to tell you,” he said, struggling against the smile on his face, failing to quell it. Immediately Thomas knew what it was, though James looked puzzled.

“I’m pregnant,” Madi announced, almost girlishly with her giggle, and James gaped, looking from one to the other with confusion. Thomas stood and congratulated them, shook John’s hand and embraced Madi tightly. She couldn’t help but cry a little, then, and they almost missed the moment James stood up from his chair and pinned John to the outer wall with a kiss that looked bruising.

“I’m sorry –” James gasped as he pulled away, looking like his actions had shocked him as much as the rest of them. John’s hand was curled in his shift, however, and he didn’t let him retreat too far.

“I’m not,” he muttered, wearing that uncertain expression that always made him look young and vulnerable.

Thomas could barely reconcile him with the legend that had fought his way into the plantation with such ease, liberating the slaves and turning Thomas’ world upside down.

James was nodding, lips curling in the smallest smile before he kissed John again, and Madi shivered in Thomas’ arms. He looked at her, curious, and found her smiling with wet eyes, staring at them.

“Madi,” John begged when he could pull away from James’ lips for a moment. He stretched his arm out towards her, but refused to let James go. She was smiling, kissing him too, and suddenly they were all embracing, all touching her belly to see if they could feel anything yet. Thomas kissed James too, because John couldn’t get all the fun, then embraced John too, letting him know that everything was going to be alright.

Their journeys had been long and bloody, and tragic, but in the end they were where they were supposed to be, and sometimes even a tragedy can have a happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it didn't take me three months again, I see that as a win...
> 
> We're done with this study, guys. I really feel that I could stretch it out of so much longer instead of just having this huge time-skip, but I felt that would jsut end up in this story never being finished, so I figured this was an ok way to do it.
> 
> Feedback is important, so please elave a kudos/comment with your thoughts <3


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